


As Taught by Carol Aird

by writingfanatic



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Breast cancer, Cancer, Colon cancer, Drowning, F/F, Philosophy, Polyerosy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suffering, life and death, post-graduate anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 11:04:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 50,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7046878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanatic/pseuds/writingfanatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Therese Belivet graduated two years ago, yet continues to face post-graduate anxiety as she struggles to figure out her life. Carol Aird, her former professor, is recently divorced and facing a diagnosis of colon cancer two years after her battle with breast cancer. Together, Therese and Carol form a deep relationship as they help each other come to terms with what it means to live and die.</p><p>WARNING: Cancer will become a center-point in the second half of the story. Caution to those for whom this is a trigger warning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which We Are Introduced to Therese Belivet

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fic that will include the attempt at smut I posted a few days ago. Hopefully, with another chapter or two, it'll help explain was happening in that scene. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PART 1: Therese

Sometimes it felt as if time stopped, or didn’t exist, as an eight-hour shift stretched into an infinite loop. An endless cycle, with brief interludes of sleep and food; time slipping down conveyor belts. By the time the wristwatch ticked clock-out o’clock, it may as well have reversed its gears to tock the time to clock-in. 

Therese never worked a shift without a watch. She was checking it now, as the minute hand ticked closer to the twelve. The last hour was always slowest, because time became more important. It needed to quicken, get her closer to getting out. Another glance; ten ‘til. 

A red-headed woman approached the register with a basket of produce. Therese scanned the items, occasionally checking the chart for Produce Lookup Codes. She glanced once at the woman, who was looking down with her jaw set, nostrils flared, and eyes narrowed. This customer would not allow mistakes, Therese surmised. The last item, a stalk of celery, contained a barcode. ITEM NOT FOUND, the screen read. She tried again. ITEM NOT FOUND. She tried manually entering the numbers. The same message appeared. The woman was now looking at her as Therese checked the chart. Celery was missing— _why was celery not listed?_ Scan. Scan. It still didn’t go through.

“How about I go get another one?” the woman suggested, her eyes now wide and mouth pulled into a line that poorly imitated a smile. She turned and strode back across the store to the produce section. As she waited, Therese checked her watch. Five ‘til. She could turn off her register light. She looked around for another employee to take her place; she knew the woman’s return would not be pleasant. But there was no one, and Therese failed to suppress the shudder she felt.

After a few minutes, the woman returned, throwing the celery onto the belt. “Next time, you can get the celery yourself,” she snapped, glaring at Therese as if trying to kill her.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m not allowed to leave the register.” The scan went through. Therese imagined hurling the celery at her.

“Do I look like I care? God, you people…. I swear, Wal-Mart only hires idiots. Then again, it’s the only place that will hire you besides gas stations.” 

Therese’s face burned red. Her eyes fixed on the screen to avoid looking at the woman. As the receipt printed, Therese reached for it, her hand trembling. She thrust it at the woman with a snarky, “Thank you for shopping at Wal-Mart,” and signed off her register.

“What’s your name? Ther-eese?” The woman walked off, more haughtily than before, toward the manager’s podium. Without waiting to see what would happen, she dashed for the back of the store to clock out. 

Swipe the badge. Press the button. Done. Therese shrugged off her vest, slumping a few degrees forward. Her mind kept flashing images of her bed, and she wanted nothing more than add herself to them, curled under the covers to welcome eight hours of oblivion.

 

Richard’s car was parked in front of her apartment upon her return home; eight hours of sleep would become six. She forgot that this was his night off and of course, he wanted to spend it with her. She sighed and walked up the stairs, already hearing the radio blaring rock music within. He had changed her station again. 

“Hey, babe!” he greeted with a kiss to her cheek. “How was work?”

“It was…work. Tell me there’s still some Guinness in the fridge.”

Richard presented her with a bottle of Bud Light. Therese grimaced, but accepted it. He had bought booze for her apartment again. She gave up telling him she didn’t like him doing that for her, not because he always bought the wrong beer, but because it gave her an uncomfortable sense of dependence. She made herself a note to buy some more Guinness after work the next evening.

“How does pizza sound?” Richard asked.

“I’m not really hungry. But you go ahead if you want it.”

“Maybe you’ll change your mind by the time it arrives.” 

Therese shrugged as she turned down the radio. Above it hung a calendar, sparsely covered with events Richard had marked down that Therese knew she would miss. One event however, was written and circled in her own handwriting: Reunion. Two days away. She still needed to pack and organize her itinerary. While Richard was finishing up his order, she turned on her computer to check the event’s webpage. Bookbinding class, tennis games, chocolate tasting…she recalled signing up for many of these. As she scrolled toward the bottom, she noticed one event recently added.

2 - 2:45pm  
Creative Writing Workshop with Carol Aird, associate professor.  
_Room 119, Visual Arts Center_

Warmth stirred in Therese’s chest. It had been two years since she last saw Professor Aird (or Carol, as she liked to be addressed), when she sat proudly with the other professors to watch Therese walk across the stage, shake hands with the president, and flip her tassel. Therese could still remember Carol’s expression, down to the light in her eyes as they filled with tears. She had been crying by the time Therese found her in the crowd afterwards—she always cried at graduations—and they had shared a long hug with the promise of keeping in touch. 

Only one of them kept it. Therese opened her email. It took her a couple of pages, but her eyes soon landed on the message as she opened it.

_Hey Therese!_

_How are you? I trust you are still feeling that post-graduate euphoria, no doubt—no classes, homework, or exams anymore, as you once told me. Soon, it will be work, bills, and taxes, as I retorted. ;)_

_Nonetheless, I hope everything is well. I recently read a book,_ What We Imagine We’ve Lost _by Matthew Charlotte, that I wanted to recommend to you. His poems describe experiences with loss and acceptance, so it will be a bittersweet read, but his language, especially his imagery—breathtaking. If you would like, I would love to know what you think of it and discuss it._

_Again, don’t be afraid to keep in touch. I always enjoy hearing how formers students are faring after college._

_Be well,  
Carol_

Below the message was an unfinished draft, where Therese had only gone so far as, _Hey Carol! Yes, I am well._ At the time of its composition, she had been faced with three internship rejections, ten job rejections, and two months left to find income before the grace period for student loans ended. To say she was well would have been lying. And she never got around to reading the book.

Richard’s breath fell on her neck. “What’s that?” 

“Oh, nothing,” she replied, closing the browser. “I was just looking at reunion events.”

“Still can’t believe you’re going to that,” Richard laughed. “Five year and ten year reunions make sense, but two year is money-grabbing.”

“Maybe so, but it’ll be good to see everyone. Carol is going to have a creative writing workshop.”

“Who?”

“Professor Aird? Tall, blonde, has a daughter named Rindy? Ring a bell, any?”

His face scrunched up as he thought, then broke into a laugh. “Oh, yeah, the spacey bitch who called me lazy?”

Therese could barely suppress her smile. She could still see Carol standing next to her, looming over Richard. He joked about procrastinating, and Carol responded with a lecture about how such laziness put extra stress on professors and how thoughtless he was not to consider that.

“Sounds like her. But I don’t think ‘spacey bitch’ is an accurate description of her.”

“Of course _you_ wouldn’t think that, Terry. She’s the one you were in love with, right?” Richard replied with a wink.

“I wasn’t in love with her.”

Richard side-eyed her, still grinning. Therese blushed, and decided to speak no more of it. Instead, she fished her duffel bag from the closet to begin packing while Richard sang along to the radio between mouthfuls of pizza. Every now and then, he would reach out his arms as an invitation to dance, which she rejected with a smile each time. If she didn’t pack now, she knew it would become a last-minute task later. 

“By the way, meant to tell you,” Richard said, “Oaks is renting a two bed, one bath for seven-fifty. On-site laundry facilities, carpet, updated appliances. It’s outside the city, but still near the studio.”

“Sounds nice,” Therese replied.

“Havens is also renting: seven-ninety with washer and dryer included. Thirty minutes away, though.”

“I’ll have to check it out.”

“Here, I’ll bring it up right now on your computer. It won’t take—”

“No, no, I’ll look at it later.” She grabbed his arm to stop him. He looked back at her, his eyes widened and mouth hanging slightly. 

“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

Therese paused her packing. She glanced at him, running a hand through her hair, and sighed, “No, I’m…it’s just…it’s still a big thing to think about, you know? It gets overwhelming.”

“Terry.” Richard wrapped his arms around her. “It’s almost the same thing as now, isn’t it? Only we’ll be sleeping together every night, and we won’t have to worry about nights off to see each other.”

“Yes, but living together, Richard. Right now, we have our own places and our own space, and I’m just...still getting used to the idea. I need a bit more time.”

“We’re running out of time. Summer may be here, and students are moving out, but others will move in, and then the waiting will never end. We have to decide soon.”

“All right. Let me look at the places—later, not right now—and I’ll tell you what I think. I need to focus on packing, though.”

“Okay. Just don’t be too long in getting around to it. It’s important.” When she didn’t respond, he sat on the edge of her bed, playing with a loose thread from her comforter, and watched her fold more items into the bag. Therese glanced at his foot, which started to shake up and down like a nervous tic. He always did this when he was impatient, or eager to show her something. If it went on too long, his mood would sour with frustration, unless he was distracted by something else.

She was about to ask him about his day when Richard took one of her hands as she was placing a blue blouse inside the duffel. “I bet I can guess who you’re wearing this for.”

“Richard, she was my favorite professor, okay? I wasn’t in love with her.”

“Says the one who never stopped talking about her. I’m surprised I forgot about her.”

“Could you let it go? It was two years ago, and your joke’s getting old. Nothing to make fun of me for.”

Richard held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. If you don’t come back from reunion though, I’ll know why.”

Therese hurled the nearest pillow at him as he roared with laughter. 

 

That night, Therese dreamed of the campus. Hollins University spread out before her like an aunt’s embrace to welcome her home. She stood in the center of Front Quad, circumspecting the area to find herself alone. No, not alone. There was a feeling—no, a _knowing_ \--that someone was on campus with her. And that someone was waiting for her. 

She stepped forward, toward the Cocke building. It looked abandoned without a soul in there. Through the darkness, Therese found and opened the office doors. In them, she found the rooms of both her apartment and Richard’s. She walked into one where Richard sat with apartment pamphlets in his hands, prattling about each one. He stood up to lead her to the sofa, and she went halfway with him, before remembering she was looking for someone. She turned and walked out without waiting to see his reaction. 

Therese walked almost every building: library, athletic complex, before she finally came to where she had always known her someone would be. Swannanoa was brightened, signaling a presence. She walked upstairs to the second floor, to the right, and stood once again before the office door, still decorated with inspirational quotes and famous or favorite lines plucked from books. She opened it.

And found no one.

Instead, a sheet of paper rested on the desk with the message: _Meet me on the Greenway._

She turned, and was on the path leading into the forest. She walked a few ways, before a flash of gold caught her eye. Her paced slowed. As the path rounded, Therese saw her sitting on a white bench, dressed in a black suit and white blouse, looking back at Therese with a warm smile as her blonde hair fell over her shoulders. Therese beamed in return. 

“I missed you,” she spoke.

Carol’s grin widened. “I know.”

She patted the empty seat beside her. Therese approached, her eyes fixed on Carol. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell Carol all that happened in two years—or rather, none of it, but simply pick up as if graduation never happened—but what escaped was a shrill cry, high-pitched and annoying. 

And Therese’s hand flew to shut off the alarm.


	2. In Which Therese is Early for Reunion and We Are Introduced to Carol Aird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who enjoyed the previous chapter. I appreciate your kind words and hope that you continue to enjoy the story.
> 
> As of today, I will no longer be sending emails/tumblr messages revealing the ending. I've sent quite a few and it's becoming a concern that people are asking not because of trigger warnings, but out of curiosity to spoil the ending. I'm not accusing or shaming anyone, but I am protective over the ending. Thank you for understanding. And special thanks to those who are keeping it secret. Your secret means a lot to me. :)

Everything looked the same—well, almost. Therese had noticed some changes since senior year: the QR and Writing Center now in the library, the remodeling of the post office and downstairs Moody, the relocation of the bookstore upstairs. It unnerved her a bit to see such changes, but no matter where you left, it would change behind you. At least Front Quad remained the same, four rectangles of freshly mowed grass without a single leaf (because heaven forbid the campus have _leaves!_ ) and little, wide-eyed, grey-furred scampers she once nicknamed squaliens. The trees rustled above her, and she tilt her head to listen. 

She imagined being in junior year again, when graduation was a faraway concept and all that mattered was passing sociology. Right now, the year would have ended, with summer term beginning in two weeks. Therese would be in Main, third floor, in a single room with a window overlooking Front Quad, and wake in the mornings to the sun in her eyes before going to work in the library. In the evenings, she would return to cook pizza rolls and watch a few episodes of _The Big Bang Theory_ before falling asleep to the blending of moonlight and lamplight illuminating her walls. Therese loved that summer, when it was so easy to live in the present because the present was so extraordinary. Each moment carried a tranquil radiance that she never needed to remind herself to stop and feel because she felt it no matter what happened. 

The summer of ’13, she was a witness to Reunion, still dreaming of attending instead of watching. Now, in the summer of ’16, the roles reversed, and she was the participant. She felt proud of this, living here four years and returning to show others how much she missed it, to rejoin the community. But beneath this lay grief, as unless she pursued a master’s here, all she would ever do henceforth would be returning. Funny how one grew attached to a place, love it so much it is always home. Even if you live forty or four hundred miles away and that place is home too, this special place is always your true home. 

Therese smiled. It truly was good to be back.

She stood up, glancing around while considering what to do next. The main events began tomorrow and only one other person from Class of ’14 arrived. None of her old professors were in their offices, including Carol, nor was her former supervisor at the library working today. So with no one to see and satisfied with her earlier stroll, Therese chose to return to her room.

West 306 was convenient by having a window overlooking Front Quad, and misery with the sticky heat rising from the floors below. By the time Therese entered the room, she felt soaked. Should she get a fan from Wal-Mart? Would it be worth the money for two days? No, it wouldn’t. Instead, she left her door open and lifted the windowpane further up to increase airflow.

As she cooled down, she flopped onto the bed, kicked off her shoes, and checked her schedule. The workshop was at two tomorrow; was she supposed to submit something? Nothing in the event description mentioned it. She could write something, just in case. Or perhaps Carol would have them write something in class. The latter seemed more likely, but it couldn’t hurt to be prepared. What would she write about? She looked around for ideas. The room was a start, what she enjoyed about it. She could write about how it felt coming home. Or about the window overlooking Front Quad…

Therese froze. From her window, she saw a blonde woman, standing in the center of the Quad, arms folded and head tilted back. She faced the direction of Cocke, until after a moment, she turned. 

And Therese swore Carol locked eyes with her. 

Therese snatched up her shoes and fumbled with the laces in her hurry. She looked back at Carol to find her walking across the Quad, possibly toward Turner. If she didn’t run now, Therese would miss her. She cursed and bolted from the room, running halfway across the building before turning back as she remembered to close the door to her room, and rushed back to the stairwell. When she burst through the door, she searched for Carol, yet could not see her. She checked around the front of West and Turner, then the side of the Visual Arts Center, but Carol was gone. Perhaps she went to her office. 

Slower this time, as she panted for breath, Therese entered Swannanoa. Carol’s door was closed and the window above it showed no lights to be on. She knocked anyway, in case Carol was in there. No answer. She tried again. Nothing. 

Maybe Carol was in Turner. But when Therese checked, all office doors were closed and she heard only silence. She searched the VAC with the same results. Carol evaded her, and Therese for a moment decided to wait outside her office, before changing her mind. There was no guarantee that Carol would come back to her office, and Therese did not want to waste an afternoon waiting for nothing. 

 

Three hours later, Therese meandered through the library with a copy of Matthew Charlotte’s _What We Imagine We’ve Lost_. She planned to read it before the workshop, in case she could talk with Carol afterward. 

As she wandered to the elevator, her phone buzzed as Richard’s name appeared on the screen. _Hey Terry decision on apt?_ Therese stared at the message, unsure of what to say. If she ignored it, she knew he would text later, so it was best to give him something, even if he didn’t like the answer. She still didn’t know what she wanted as far as apartments were concerned. 

She concentrated on replying, not bothering to look up at the person entering the elevator with her. _No, not yet. I promise I’ll tell you when I do._ The clicking of her keyboard filled the silence, until she heard the other passenger mutter under her breath.

“No hello, no how are you, no ‘Hey yo, bitch!’”

Therese’s chest fluttered. She knew that voice anywhere. Her head shot up as she realized who stood beside her.

“Not even an _‘Oh my god, it’s Cate Blanchett!_ Oh wait, no, it’s just Carol Aird. Nevermind.’ And you want to know the worst part, Therese? What stings me the most?”

Carol’s hand pressed against her heart, as if wounded. Her eyes were wide with shock and the corners of her mouth downward. Therese stammered, already releasing an apology for hurting her feelings, for not keeping in touch like she promised. 

“Two damn years, and not even a hug!” Carol held out her arms, face now lifted with a warm smile. “Come here! I haven’t seen you in so long!”

Before Carol could even finish, Therese flung her arms around her old professor. She breathed in the scent of Carol’s perfume, happy that she still wore it, while also noticing something different in her shape. Did she lose weight? She must have, Therese supposed. Not that it mattered. 

“I missed you,” Therese whispered. 

“I missed you, too,” Carol replied as they separated and exited the elevator. “So good to see you! How have you been?”

“All right,” Therese responded, but it came out too mechanical, too automatic.

“I should know better,” Carol chuckled, catching the tone in Therese’s answer. “The important question in a reunion, repeated ad nauseum, and here I am, perpetuating it. Forgive me.”

“That’s all right,” Therese replied. “I saw you earlier on the Quad, but I couldn’t find you after you walked away.”

“Oh! I was going to Turner. Professor Harrison—do you know her? Education department? No?—well, she and I were exchanging book recommendations.” 

Therese had to keep herself from face-palming. Of course it was the education department, the one everyone forgot existed unless you were part of it, because it resided in a hidden corner of Turner off of the stairwell leading to the Health Department. Always easy to miss.

Carol continued, “She suggested I read _The Tibetan Book of the Dead_ since she knew I like to study Buddhism. And I recommended…that book, actually.”

Therese noticed her looking at the book in her hand. “Oh, yeah, you also recommended it to me. In that email you sent me.”

“I remember. It’s an extraordinary book. If you want, we can get together tomorrow and chat about it. Are you coming to the workshop tomorrow?” 

“Yes, I am.”

“Excellent! And after that we can head to my office and catch up. For now, I have to head to my doctor’s appointment, which if I don’t hurry, I’ll be late. But it was wonderful to see you again, Therese.”

“Wonderful see you too, Carol.”

They hugged again, this time holding it for an extra moment. Then Carol gave Therese a small squeeze and let go, before turning and waving goodbye as she walked through the doors. 

Therese watched even when she was out of sight. She checked out the book, and strolled toward the porch on Main. Once seated comfortably in a rocking chair, she read the first poem.

> ###  _What is Truly Lost_
> 
> __
>     
>     
>     _Forgive me when I remember you:_
> 
> _that pink taffeta dress, sending_
> 
> _well-wishes wrapped in bubbles_
> 
> _for a photo to your aunt. Bless me_
> 
> _when morning light tip-toes_
> 
> _across pear green kitchen walls_
> 
> _to nestle against the brick, and I_
> 
> _forget to view it through your lens._
> 
> .
> 
> _What we imagine we’ve lost is people,_
> 
> _serenity enveloped by skin and motion._
> 
> _True casualties of loss lay in moments_
> 
> _a koi fish is merely orange, a shade of blue_
> 
> _remains unnoticed, a breeze is simply so,_
> 
> _or a sunrise is passed slept through._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Constructive criticism is welcome as long as it's nice and polite. We're not ugly people, so don't say ugly things. 
> 
> UPDATE: Poem added. Enjoy! :)


	3. In Which Carol and Therese Recover Lost Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll make this quick: I'm having fun with this story, which is why updates are taking a while. It's been writing, epiphany, rewrite, epiphany--you know. 
> 
> UPDATE: Chapter completed. Enjoy! :)

Therese arrived half an hour early to the workshop. She hoped if Carol came soon before anyone else, Therese would have her all to herself, even if they only exchanged small talk. For the third time, she checked her messenger bag to make sure she remembered the book to discuss later, and the CD she wanted to give Carol. Both rested securely in their places and she closed the bag, satisfied.

She wore her dark blue blouse, which fit tighter than she remembered. Another glance down showed the bust to stretch, causing a gap that revealed the black lace bra beneath. If she kept her shoulders forward, the gap closed, but then her muscles ached from the uncomfortable position. Maybe she should have worn something else. Did she have time? The clock behind her read ten to two; by the time she could reach her room, change, and return, class would almost begin, and her chance to talk to Carol lost. Therese drummed her fingers, glancing again at the shirt. It was a mistake to wear it.

A few students streamed in, but Carol had yet to show. There was no way now that they would talk before class. But it was all right, Therese had to remind herself, because they had all afternoon afterward to talk, and compared to that, what was a few minutes lost? A few minutes she could have changed. Her eyes squeezed shut to hold back the anxiety. She couldn’t go through this right now. Some other day, some other time—

“Good afternoon, everyone!”

Her eyes sprung open to find Carol setting her materials onto the podium. Therese forgot about the blouse and the anxiety about her appearance as she focused on Carol’s. Carol was dressed in a baby blue button-up, short-sleeved shirt with khaki cargo pants, purple converse sneakers, and a pendant of an orange flower with an orange watch to match. Her hair was pulled into a low ponytail, yet strands of hair were already falling onto her shoulders, and Therese noticed Carol’s face glimmered a bit from sweat. 

“I’ll state the obvious: it’s hot outside.” The class laughed and stated their agreement. Carol quickly removed the hair tie to redo her hair. “Ninety degrees with ninety percent humidity, and I have the misfortune of long hair.” More laughter and agreements. “So welcome to the workshop, and happy reunion! To give myself a quick introduction, my name is Carol Aird. I’ve been an associate professor of Creative Writing here for five years. Three main quirks to know about me: I love colors (as you can see from my outfit), I love words and languages, and my focus in writing is humanity.

“To begin, you should have a paper and pen in front of you. What I want you to do is take a look around the room, notice the details. It’s not the most interesting room, I know, but look for any quirks it might have. Now touch the desk, your seat—what do they feel like? Take a deep breath. Is there a peculiar smell?”

She watched everyone circumspect, breathe, and feel their chairs. After a few moments, she instructed, “Now write it down. Write down the room, see if you can bring it to life through your words. I’ll give you about five minutes.”

The class quieted to the sound of pens scraping paper. Carol flipped through some of the pages on the podium, glancing now and then between the class and the clock. Therese twirled her pen as she looked around the room, noting its white walls and red chairs. A few words here, a few words there. Her eyes once looked at Carol, noticing the way her hands folded over the edges of the podium while one foot rested casually on its toe. 

Two breast pockets, double stitching, what looked like durable fabric for the shirt. One cargo pocket for each pant leg, one with a rectangular bulge, and the pants themselves baggier along the calf, while the thighs…

“Therese.”

Carol was looking at her, pointing with her pen to Therese’s paper. “Write.”

Therese looked down, blushing with embarrassment. She jotted down whatever came to mind about the room without paying any more attention to it until Carol called time.

“Do you understand what happened?” Carol asked. “You’re experiencing your surroundings. You’re aware of the room around you. As a writer, this is half of your material. Anyone want to guess the other half? Ah, Therese remembers.”

She grinned at Therese, whose hand shot into the air as high as she could reach. The shirt parted a bit, but she paid it no mind. “Humans,” she answered. 

“Absolutely,” Carol praised, looking at Therese like a proud parent. “Humans and environment. Why should we pay attention to these things? What makes them so important? I think Therese has memorized my lessons. But let someone else answer, someone from the older classes.”

A woman of ’66 raised her hand. “Well, as a writer,” she began, “it’s what you write about. If not settings and people, then what?”

“That’s right. You in the back, do you have another answer?”

Her hand pointed to an ’11 alum in the back row. “Not only is it what we write about, but the two affect each other in a way, you know? Humans alter the environment, and the environment influences them. Like global warming, I guess, if I’m being clear.”

“You are. And that’s exactly my point, so thank you both for your wonderful answers. Human and environment shape each other. Part of what makes a human being is environment, and a factor of environment is how the human creates it. You are the setting and the setting is you. So we’ve written about setting, now we write about humans. I want each of you to create a character, develop that person as much as you can. What does that person fear? Enjoy? Love or hate? 

“Place your character in this room. What are they doing here? What details do they notice about this room? How does this room affect them? I’ll give you about fifteen minutes.”

Therese concentrated, this time keeping her head down to avoid distraction. Her character started as a female. Tall, say 5’11. Athletic build with slight muscle tone from occasional weight-lifting. Blonde, wavy hair a little past the shoulders. Voice deep and rich like honey over dark chocolate. Eyes the color of an overcast sky during summer rain. The same eyes delving to your core to understand your fears and weaknesses, and a smile that forgives each one. 

This woman stood in this room to examine every tile and seat as if the entire room were an art-piece. That’s how she viewed the world: like a canvas, some sections brilliant with colors that made you want to dance, and others dark, so brutal with truth that you wanted to run away and forget you saw it. Some areas were greyscale where everything became a question and never an answer. This woman saw hope where there was despair, beauty where there was cruelty, and life where there was void. 

“Time! Anyone want to share?”

A few people read aloud their works, and Carol praised the specific points she liked. She glanced at Therese, but Therese lowered her head, shaking it just enough to signal that she didn’t want to read. 

“We only have about ten minutes left, so I’ll make this quick. We’ve focused on setting and character, and established their connection. In the first exercise, I had you take in the room using your senses. As a writer, we need to be aware of how we perceive our environment because that is the first step to understand how our characters perceive theirs. Look back over your writing with the character. What details stood out for your character? I know one mentioned that the room felt bland and structured—what does that say about the character? Is this an artist who prefers the abstract? Another said the room was structured in a good way, so maybe that character is an organized student. How our character interprets and engages with their setting helps us to build them and place the audience into their perspective. We want the audience to feel as free, claustrophobic, organized, or entropic as the character. So by interpreting setting, the audience experiences the story like the character. I’m going to stop there since we’re out of time. Thank you everyone for coming, I hope you enjoyed it.”

A few people thanked her as everyone save Therese filed out of the room. Carol gathered her things and looked at Therese. “Do you mind if I place these in my car first? I’m afraid if I take them to the office, I’ll forget them later.”

“No, I don’t mind,” Therese replied, excited to walk with Carol.

“You can go ahead to the office if you want; the door’s locked, but I won’t be but a minute behind you.”

Therese’s smile faltered. She wanted to stay by Carol’s side. But she nodded and walked with Carol as far as the building’s exit before separating from her toward Swannanoa.

Therese sat across from the office door as she waited, reading the quotes and passages on Carol’s door. The opening line to “The Fall of the House of Usher,” lyrics from Abigail Washburn, writing advice by Anne Lamott, and the cover of _Pilgrim at Tinker Creek_ by Annie Dillard. Therese took particular interest in the first seven lines of _The Aeneid_ typed up in Georgia font, with handwritten notes from Professor Sparrow of the Classics department, marking the meter of each line. Carol had recited it in class once, the Latin rolling off her tongue as if fluent. Professor Sparrow praised Carol’s flawless pronunciation before the class, and Carol had never looked so proud and shy as she did that moment. Therese could have hugged her.

“That took longer than I thought, but with the temperature, I thought we needed a treat. Tuxedo for me and Turtle for you.”

In each of Carol’s hands was a large iced coffee. Smiling, she handed one to Therese, who graciously accepted it with surprise. “Thank you! You didn’t have to do that.”

"My pleasure! Please come in.”

Stepping across the threshold, Therese felt the most at home since returning to Hollins. It looked exactly the same: cobalt blue vases holding violet orchids, fairy lights intertwined with vine along the bookshelves that held Carol’s favorite poets. An antique, sepia-toned typewriter with a broken E and no ribbon sat just off from the desk; Carol never fixed it, saying it was more beautiful unusable. As Therese sat in the small sapphire blue chair by Carol’s desk, she remembered all the afternoons sitting here chatting and drinking coffee from Carol’s Keurig machine (which she noticed was no longer here). She acknowledged that two years had happened since then, and that Carol would ask her about them, but in this moment, the years didn’t exist. She was still a senior again, spending an hour or two with her favorite professor.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Carol said as she adjusted her chair so that she faced Therese. “What did you think of the book?”

Therese brought out the book from her bag. “I loved it,” she said. “You were right about it being bittersweet. And his imagery is great. I can see why you like him; his bio said he loves color, too.”

Carol laughed and nodded in agreement. “There’s much more I like about him. But which poem struck you most?"

Therese flipped through a couple pages, trying to remember. “Oh, this one I especially liked. It’s the—”

“Read it to me, Therese.” 

> _**Breaking Ground**_
> 
> _Two roads diverge into five,_
> 
> _to ten_
> 
> _to fifty._
> 
> .
> 
> _Somewhere this tree-lot sprouted into a forest_
> 
> _and the ground regurgitated the streets as trails_
> 
> _for the weeds to conceal, only for me to break again,_
> 
> .
> 
> _but which way, which way?_
> 
> .
> 
> _So many roads untraversed, yet I can only choose_
> 
> _so few. Actions to consequences to life_
> 
> _to death—I must be wise_
> 
> .
> 
> _lest the trails I follow_
> 
> .
> 
> _lead me_
> 
> .
> 
> _to the forest’s edge._

When Carol didn’t say anything, Therese began to explain. “I like it because the poet seems lost in a forest that serves as a metaphor for life. He has all these options around him, but he isn’t sure which one is best because any could disappoint him.”

“But any could bring him joy,” Carol added.

“True, and that would make sense of the last three lines. If the forest scares him, why does he want to stay away from the edge of it?”

“Why do you think he’s scared?” 

“Well, his general language sounds intimidated. Something controlled has grown wild, and he doesn’t know how to ‘traverse’ it as he said. He’s stuck in this maze and doesn’t know how to get out, but then he wants to stay in it?”

“Perhaps the edge of the forest is death.”

“That could be true, so does he feel trapped? He doesn’t have a clear path, and he can’t just leave the forest.”

“That depends. I believe his language is intentionally ambiguous so that how you interpret it reflects where you are in life. Do you feel trapped, Therese?”

Therese silenced, keeping her eyes on the book and away from Carol’s gaze. Her mind tried to process what had just occurred and when she tried to speak again, all she could think of saying was some sort of confirmation to the question. Neither spoke for a moment.

Carol changed the subject, “Tell me, Therese: what does your forest look like?”

“Mine? Oh, uh…like the poet’s, I guess. Only—less visible trails. There’s so many directions I could go, some clearer than others, and some I wonder, ‘Is this the right path? Is there a trail I have to break, or am I meant for this trail?’ The worst part is that you can’t see ahead. You can’t tell if you’re doing the right thing or if you’ll regret moving in later because you’re not sure what you want. How can you when you just say yes to everything? It used to be so clear, but now it’s like there’s a fog that obscures the way until you wonder if there was anything behind it at all or if you were just overconfident.”

Carol placed a hand on Therese’s knee, stroking it with her thumb to give comfort. Therese closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of it and wishing she could just place herself in Carol’s arms. 

Carol asked her, “So what do you do?”

“I…don’t—do—anything. I just stand there and wait for something to push me along.”

“And does it?”

“No. It’s just me all along, hoping the dilemma will fix itself. But it doesn’t.”

Carol nodded, her eyes cast downward, clouding. She was silent for a moment as she squeezed Therese’s knee, then let go and leaned back in her chair. Therese watched her, wondering if she should say anything else. 

“It’s always just you,” Carol mused to herself. “Whatever you face, you have to do it alone.” 

“Not always,” Therese offered.

Carol looked up at her, her eyes saddened. “Most of the time.”

“Why? What does your forest look like?”

Carol grinned at the question. “Like a forest. The trees are all varieties of maple, willow, birch, oak, with all sorts of flora and fauna. Red foxes, grey wolves, and bees. Lots of bees. And there are no trails. I wander in a way that suits me and if that blazes a trail for another, perfect. If not, the path was only for me anyway.”

“There are no grey spots, no dark areas?”

She meant it playfully, but Carol’s eyes flashed, and burned proud and fierce as if she had won a war. “There was once,” Carol answered, voice flat and far away. Therese could hear the strain of excitement trying to seep through. “But I burned it, and it hasn’t grown back since.”

Therese shifted uncomfortably. She sipped her coffee, avoiding Carol’s intense gaze, eyes still fierce and distant. From the corner of her eye, she watched Carol place a hand against her solar plexus, and bring it away again, as if the touch were a confirmation. 

“Do you still ever feel lost?” Therese whispered, afraid to be asking.

Carol pondered for a moment, unsure of how to respond. The corner of her mouth tugged upward, however, and she chuckled before answering, “Yes and no. I create my own paths, so I suppose I am. But I prefer to be. I’ve found that it’s when we get lost that we discover the most wonderful adventures.”

Therese gleamed with that. “I never thought of it that way.”

“You should. You never know what could be hiding in the fog.”

They shared a smile and finished off the last of their coffees before Therese contemplated, “I think there is something in the fog, but I’m not sure whether it’s best for me or not. Do I really want it? Do I really want to commit or am I just afraid of being lonely? And I’d really like to find my love for painting again. It’s been months since my last project.”

Carol’s eyes widened in shock, as if hearing about an untimely death of a relative. “You stopped painting?”

“Yeah. I just…didn’t care for it, anymore.”

“Not even a landscape or abstract? Have you taken up any other art?” Therese shook her head. “I’m…sorry. I always loved seeing your works. I still have—here, let me grab it.”

She crossed the room and from beside the window, picked up a small canvas board with a painting in four quadrants. The first consisted of a large, horizontal lime green stripe that ran across the space and from it, lines of various lengths ran vertically, except for the square spiral top left. The second quadrant displayed elegant ruby swirls as if a vine grew inside and over the canvas. The fourth contained various shades of blue squiggles that overlapped circles, while the third quadrant carried a black heart with smears from where paint was hurled at it. _Elements of Creativity, Mark II._

Therese beamed. It had been three years since she painted it and given it to Carol. And Carol still kept it right by the window. 

“You still have it,” was all Therese could say.

“Of course I do! You painted it for me, remember? Or does my memory fail?”

Therese shook her head, grinning giddily. “I almost forgot I made it. It’s not that good.”

“Not that good? Therese, it’s perfect, especially for a color fanatic.” Carol flashed her proud parent smile again as she placed the painting back by the window. “I just wish I could still see more of your works. I sincerely hope you find you love for it again; you always looked so joyous.”

Therese nodded, thinking about her forest again. As Carol took her seat again, Therese’s mind turned elsewhere. “Carol? Do you truly believe you have to walk your forest alone?”

“Just mine or in general?”

“Both.”

Carol sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I can’t speak for everyone’s forest. But sometimes, people have to walk alone because others can’t help them. You either accept that, or become selfish asking them to perform the impossible. Or worse, forcing them to watch you suffer because you know they….

“However,” she said quickly before Therese could interrupt, “at this point in my life, others walk with me, and I am grateful for them. Right now, you’re walking with me in my forest and I’m happy.”

Her smile returned, along with the forgiving expression Therese loved. Therese wanted to ask her to elaborate, yet couldn’t bring herself to watch Carol’s face darken again any longer. “And I’m happy you’re walking with me in mine. I missed your classes.”

“I’ve missed having you in them. More than that, I miss our talks. Coffee and everything.”

“That’s why you got the coffee!” Therese grinned ear-to-ear.

Carol answered with a wink. “My Keurig may be broken, but I’ll still remember the coffee. I’ll say it again, I miss our little talks.”

The last two words sounded a rhythm that reminded Therese of the CD. “Oh! I also brought you something that made me think of you.” From her bag, she pulled out a white album with OMAM on the cover, and handed it to Carol. Carol turned it to the side and read, _Of Monsters and Men, Beneath the Skin_.

“Fascinating,” she muttered under her breath as she read the track list. Therese watched her smile until for a moment—a nanosecond—a dark countenance crossed Carol’s face. It disappeared, but the smile that followed seemed tighter as she tried to say something, then decided against it. “I’m sure it will be an extraordinary listen,” was all she said.

Therese almost asked what had been the matter, but if Carol chose not to share, then perhaps it was best not to inquire. “I listened to it a few months ago, and it reminded me of your lesson on humanity. That’s what I think this album is: an exploration of what it means to be human, especially when you feel beaten down.”

Carol’s face went from joy to timid and back to elation as she beamed at Therese. “Thank you! I’m glad you thought of me and my lessons. I always wonder how many students will remember.”

“How could anyone forget? You were never as passionate about a lesson as you were about humanity. You yourself mentioned how your favorite part was—”

“When silence crept into each crevice of the room as everyone stared at me with eyes wide, and you could almost hear each other’s heartbeat. And that’s how I knew they were listening,” Carol finished for her. 

“Yes,” Therese breathed, once again catching the gleam in Carol’s eyes as if Carol spoke from some otherworldly plane. They always looked like that after each class, when Therese swore Carol was in love with her own lessons, her own words as she tried to explain them to students, hoping that one, just one, may absorb them and see the world like her.

Therese liked to pride herself on being that student.

Each began to say something more, when a buzz split through the sound to silence them. Carol glanced down and reached into her side-leg pocket to retrieve her phone. “That would be Harge,” she sighed. “I need to go in a few minutes.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Oh, yes. He’s been called into work tonight and needs me to pick up Rindy.”

For the entire time she spoke, Therese forgot that Carol was married with a child. Her chest tightened with disappointment. “How is Rindy?”

Carol brightened, always eager to talk about her little girl. “Thank you for asking! She’s doing well. She’ll be starting kindergarten next year, which will be exciting and heartbreaking as every mother knows.”

“And…Harge?”

She remembered meeting Carol’s husband once, at a party at Carol’s house with Honors English and Classical Studies thesis students celebrating their works. Therese had been invited for her company, and was the first to arrive just in time to see Harge getting ready to take Rindy out to dinner, away from the noisy students. He shook Therese’s hand, his demeanor polite but clearly nervous, as if he already felt out of place in his own home. She wondered if Carol remembered that moment, too.

“He’s doing a lot better. I don’t think I mentioned it before, but we divorced a year ago.”

“No, you didn’t mention it. I’m sorry.” Therese’s chest untightened with guilty delight. 

“Don’t be. We’re good friends now, but marriage…wasn’t quite meant for us.” Carol sent a quick text and re-pocketed the phone. “Right now, I’m just sorry that we can’t continue our lovely conversation. You will be attending the dinner tomorrow, correct?”

“Yes. Will you?”

Carol’s smile was intoxicating. “Yes, I will. I’ll see you then,” she said as they stood. “Thank you for this exceptional talk. I enjoyed it.”

“So did I,” Therese replied as they hugged. 

The best part about hugging Carol was how her arms always tightened comfortably around Therese’s torso. Carol had never been one for graceful, delicate hugs—she held people as a mother would hug a child, or the child a teddy bear. Once, Therese dared her to a bear hug, and Therese joked that her spine never felt the same afterward. 

As she walked out of the office, Therese glanced at Carol. Carol smiled, then pointed to herself, mouthing, “I like the top.” Therese glowed, then exited down the hallway.

 

The next night, Therese fidgeted by the Moody elevator, keeping an eye out for Carol, while sipping her gin and tonic. She checked her face again in a compact mirror to make sure her makeup looked all right, then performed her fifth wardrobe check. Her charcoal slacks bagged around her calves, but their length was still short enough for her to avoid stepping on them. Her top was a royal blue sheer, sequined shirt that tapered above her left thigh, and bunched a bit around her middle as she moved. She fixed it with a quick tug, and made sure the laces of her boots remained tied. 

Satisfied, she cast another glance around the room. She smiled and waved to a few friends, chatting with them as they passed by, but turning down offers to sit at the tables with them. Not until Carol could sit with her. Growing impatient with a now empty glass, Therese made her way back to the bar to refill her drink. 

As she was next in line to get her refill, she felt a tap on her shoulder and a voice in her ear, “I always seem to catch you when you’re not expecting it.”

Therese turned her head to grin childishly at Carol, only for Carol to gesture for her to look ahead. Therese quickly told the bartenders what she wanted, and Carol ordered a Jack and Coke for herself. When they made their way out of the crowd to stand beside the window next to the bookstore, Therese eyed Carol, nearly losing her breath.

Carol was dressed modestly, but impeccably in a men’s red silk dress shirt and khaki slacks. Up close, Therese could see the basic application of makeup, including mascara that brightened her grey eyes. Carol kept her eyes on the dining room, unaware of Therese’s staring until when she looked back at her, Therese quickly looked away, blushing. 

“Something wrong?” Carol asked.

“No, no. You just look…magnificent.”

Carol brightened. “And you look stunning. I love your top.”

Therese smiled bashfully, keeping her eyes on her drink. “Thank you,” was all she said.

“I don’t see anyone rushing to the buffet, so I imagine it’s not ready yet. While we wait, I want to take in the bookstore for a moment.”

Together, they strolled through the store in comfortable silence, occasionally pointing out things that interested them. Carol held up a moss green shirt with a design of Tinker Mountain, over which a white ribbon read, _Levavi Oculos_ and under the design, written in all caps, _IT’S NOT FOUR YEARS. IT’S FOR LIFE._ Both fell in love with it, each taking one in her own size. 

“Fun fact,” Carol commented, “the president always pronounces it wrong. It’s actually Le _w_ a _w_ i Oculos because the v makes a w sound in Latin. Professor Sparrow tried for years correcting her, but she never listened.”

Therese didn’t hear a word she said, focusing instead on the sound of her voice, the way it heightened a bit when she talked about something that interested her. She wished she could remember to record Carol’s voice so that she could listen to it wherever she went. 

“Another fun fact: there was a decal a few years ago with half the school motto covered by one of the Ls, so that it read, Leva Culos, which translates from Latin to ‘Lift up your butt.’”

Therese’s eyes widened in shock as she stared, scandalized, at Carol. “ _What?_ ”

“I know! Professor Sparrow tried—Wait. Therese, did you hear anything I said before that?”

Therese blushed with embarrassment, giving Carol her answer. Carol gave her an amused smile, and patted Therese’s shoulder before heading to the checkout counter. 

“I’m sorry, I just zoned out for a second.”

“I noticed. And at just the right moment, too.”

Therese hung her head, but a grin tugged at her lips. When she looked back up, Carol was covering her mouth, trying not to laugh as she completed the transaction. After Therese bought her own shirt, Carol muttered under her breath, “Leva culos,” sending Therese into a fit of giggles. 

“Tell me again where that comes from?”

“And relinquish my chance to pick on you for it until kingdom come? No, I don’t think so.” Before Therese could protest, Carol ushered them to a table just as a line started forming for the food. 

Both filled their plates and made their way to the only table not marked with a class year. Therese had hoped they could be alone, but other professors and guests occupied all save two chairs, which Carol and Therese took. The moment they sat down, one of them engaged Carol in conversation regarding faculty business that Therese could offer no contribution. Occasionally, the others would ask her the standard reunion questions. She began to wish she had sat with her own class since there seemed no chance of talking to Carol. 

By the time they finished dessert, a crowd was forming by the musicians to dance. Therese snuck glances at Carol, finding her still talking to another professor, this time about the other’s sabbatical. Wordlessly, she stood up and walked over to the dancers, joining in. The musicians were playing bluegrass-styled classic rock songs, and most of the dancing involved flinging limbs in drunken frenzies. Usually when she danced, Therese felt awkward and idiotic, but right now, she felt normal, moving her feet and arms as she liked, looking no more silly than the inebriated people around her. 

During the third song, she had her eyes closed, listening to the beat of the music, her arms held out in front of her. Fingers intertwined with hers and when she opened her eyes, Carol was smiling at her, moving their arms together. Therese laughed as they performed a variety of dance moves.

Outside, Therese caught flashes of lightning, followed by thunder. Carol noticed it too, and excitement spread through her features. Therese stared at her; she was always the most beautiful when fascinated. Carol resumed her dancing, livelier than ever. Therese felt exhausted and near out of breath, but she kept going, not yet ready for this moment to end. The storm raged on outside, and Therese wished for a power failure that would kill them all so that they could return as specters, reliving night after night the elation as they danced in the face of the storm. Perhaps it could be the end of the world, and this would be everyone’s last and final moment. With Carol here, Therese couldn’t think of a better death.


	4. In Which Therese Receives a Pleasant Surprise (Or Several)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: I uploaded the rest of Chapter 3, so if you've only read the first part of it, there's more now. 
> 
> Also, a certain stunt that Carol pulls in this chapter is inspired by this lovely clip, in which Cate Blanchett poses in mentioned garment: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WDn3wGBrbno 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Tick, tick…tick…

Seven to four. Nine-thirty. Lunch in an hour and half if the CSMs remembered. Therese’s stomach roared, and she visualized deli wraps, frozen burritos, and yogurt cups. Perhaps today she could talk herself into splurging on Subway. She thought of her bank balance. No, not today.

She checked her watch. Nine-thirty still. Time seemed to be moving slower today, even when it seemed busy. Other cashiers preferred many customers because they made time pass faster, but Therese felt the opposite; she would rather submit herself to the torture of time than deal with people. Customers, no matter who, unnerved her. If they had a bad day, it was so easy for them to blame her for it, or if something went wrong, assume she was incompetent. Maybe she was. She worked here a year and a half, and still made mistakes, like closing the drawer before drawing out change, or forgetting to set the register to WIC mode and then having to redo the transaction. Customers never failed to remind her of her idiocy.

She sighed, sneaking a glance at her watch before a customer could approach the register. Nine-thirty. Something was wrong with her watch, yet she couldn’t do anything about it until she helped this man in front of her.

He was middle-aged with white, spiked hair, and a barreled torso. He carried the air of someone who expected everyone to know his authority and respect it—a football coach. So far the transaction was going well with a few groceries and car accessories. Another customer entered the line, but Therese didn’t look up—she was in a rhythm, and all the mattered was the one in front of her now. His last item was a case of Bud Lite, which set off the warning message to check for verification.

“May I see your ID?” She knew he was well over twenty-one, but management had been drilling the employees relentlessly to check _all_ IDs, no matter what. This store, under no circumstances, they said, could risk a lawsuit involving alcohol. 

The man glared at her. “Really?” he asked. But he pulled out his torn, faded wallet, and showed her his ID. The license was years passed needing to be replaced. Instead of a face, there was a beige spot and half the text was unreadable. 

The birthdate remained clear, yet true to her instructions, Therese responded, “I’m sorry. We can’t accept faded IDs.”

The man sighed angrily and flipped to another ID.

“We also can’t accept student IDs.”

“It’s not a student ID, it’s a faculty ID!” the man snapped. 

“Is there no other form of ID with you?”

“How about this? Why don’t you call your manager over and tell him why you’re giving a fifty-year-old man a hard time?” he growled.

Therese stared at him a moment, her face reddening with anger and embarrassment. Why did they do this? Why did they have to get so upset simply because she was doing her job? She almost feared to touch the register’s light switch because she knew he would see her hands shaking. 

As she tried to control her hand, she heard the next customer speak to the man. “I’d like to know why you’re giving a twenty-three-year-old cashier a hard time simply because she’s following the rules so that she doesn’t get fired.”

 _Bless you. Bless you._ Therese thought as she flipped the light so that it blinked for help. She turned to see who defended her, and held her breath.

Carol’s eyes drilled into the man’s as he replied, “She’s not going to get fired for selling me alcohol, lady. Mind your own business.”

“Not when she’s concerned, I won’t. And yes, she could get fired because you have a faded ID.”

“You know what, why don’t you just take your stuff and move to a different register? All right, sweetheart?”

“No, I’m comfortable right here, you misogynistic bastard.”

The man threw up his hands in frustration. Carol glanced at Therese to make sure she was okay. Therese felt scared and amused all at once, and her eyes nervously flitted to the approaching CSM. 

“What’s wrong?” the CSM asked with a bored tone.

“I can’t accept this man’s ID because it’s faded.”

The CSM glanced at the man’s ID. “He’s fine. Just let it go, Therese.”

“Excuse me, but no,” Carol interrupted before the CSM could enter the birthdate. “Please do not punish her for rules management has set.”

“ _Will you fuck off?_ ” the man roared.

Carol shouted over him. “If you so much as enter one digit, I will inform every single manager in this building! Therese is following the rules and you are about to punish her for it. This is a legal issue, one that Wal-Mart as I understand it strongly defends. Do you _really_ want to risk illegal activity?”

Both Therese and the CSM looked at her doubtfully. Illegal activity was a stretch, but certainly not impossible. The man fumed, using all his control not to strike Carol. If he did, Therese would be more than happy to get arrested for manslaughter.

“I’m sorry, sir. She’s correct. We cannot sell you this alcohol.”

The man screamed, struck the register, sending the computer flying toward Therese, before storming out without any of his groceries. The computer didn’t hit her, but Therese’s stomach felt the force of a punch. 

“Therese, are you all right?” Carol asked, touching Therese’s arm. Therese placed her hand over Carol’s, and fought the urge to burst into tears. 

“Why don’t you help this customer and go on lunch? It’s about time for it anyway,” the CSM muttered. 

“You sure? It’s only…a quarter to ten.”

“Your watch must be wrong, it’s almost eleven.” The CSM voided the transaction and flipped off Therese’s light. Carol made sure to thank her for her cooperation.

Therese glanced at her watch. The second hand was no longer moving. A tear finally escaped. She never worked a shift— _never_ —without a functioning watch.

“Therese, sweetie? Take a deep breath, honey.” Therese breathed as Carol warded off any more customers. 

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t you dare apologize! That child had no right to be angry with you.” Her choice of noun made Therese smile. “That’s better.”

Therese hurried to remove her watch. Having it on without working furthered her anxiety, yet working without one didn’t help. She would have to buy a new one during her lunch, which meant she had to go without food. To distract herself from the thought of that, and the rumble in her stomach, she focused on Carol’s items. 

Pancake mix. Assorted food colorings. Coloring books with a 64-pack of colored pencils. Caffe Verona whole bean coffee. Hot cocoa powder.

“You must have a colorful day planned,” Therese teased. She looked up and finally noticed Carol’s outfit: white blouse with a blue suit vest, grass green pants, and small red bangles adorning her left wrist. It looked adorable and absurd all at once.

“It’s always a colorful day with me,” Carol responded, posing her clothing for emphasis. “I’m just shopping for essentials.”

Therese couldn’t suppress her snort, to which Carol smirked. “How about I treat you to lunch?” she said as she swiped her card. “As a way of apologizing on the ogre’s behalf?”

“Thanks, but you don’t really have to—”

“I can also hear your stomach from here.”

Therese blushed, offering no further argument. Carol waited for her to sign off and clock out, still warding other customers away, then led Therese outside toward her car. Carol owned a blue Toyota Corolla, kept clean save for a stain on the back of the passenger seat and a few colored pencils scattered over the backseat.

“You can tell Rindy’s been in here recently,” she commented as she noticed Therese looking. 

“Where are we going?”

“Surprise,” Carol answered, grinning. Therese became excited as Carol drove out of the parking lot and toward the center of Charlottesville.

It had only been a week since Reunion, yet Therese felt like she hadn’t seen Carol in years. The image of Carol laughing from alcohol and dancing, walking with Therese toward West to make sure she got there safely, then a hug that seemed to last an infinity, replayed itself like a distant memory, and she smiled at it between glances at Carol.

After a few minutes, they entered a park. Carol removed a picnic basket and a miniature cooler from the trunk, and they walked toward an isolated area. From the basket, Carol produced chicken salad sandwiches, individual containers of pineapple, brownies with M&Ms, and mason jars of sweet tea. Two of each.

“Did you have this lunch planned ahead?” Therese asked, her tone light to hide the suspicion beneath.

“I did, but with someone else. We were going to spend the day in Charlottesville, but she canceled last minute.”

“She?”

“Abby. My lover.”

“Oh.” Therese felt a twinge of disappointment, but tried to banish it. She had no reason to feel it. 

“It’s a good thing I ran into you, though. I had no idea you lived here.”

“Yeah.”

“I can still enjoy this with someone, and you get out of that stifling building for an hour.”

Therese smiled, still focusing on her sandwich. “I’m sorry you couldn’t have your date, though.”

Carol eyed her for a moment, then responded, “You apologize too much. I’m sure Abby will be delighted to hear I’m with someone else.”

Therese raised an eyebrow, expecting Carol to say more, but instead silence hung between them as they finished off their lunch. Therese wished this could last all day instead of another thirty minutes. She rubbed her wrist with the thought, wishing her watch would work.

“I remember your watch stopping,” Carol remarked. “Do you want me to take it somewhere to get it fixed?”

“Thank you for offering, but it wouldn’t help. I can’t work a shift without it. I can’t do much of anything without a watch.”

Carol moved closer to Therese, resting elbows on knees. Therese enjoyed the closeness and was tempted to rest her head on Carol’s shoulder. 

“Why’s that?” Carol asked. 

“Because I have to know what time it is. How long I have until my shift is over. If I don’t, it’ll feel like it’ll never end.”

She pulled the watch from her pocket. It was a simple analog with a silver band and light blue face; Richard had given it to her a few years ago for her birthday, even though Therese remembered mentioning how she wanted to have a men’s athletic watch. She banged it against her knee to see if it would help, but the hands remained motionless. “I can’t _deal_ with anything if I don’t have a watch.”

“Do you mean ‘anything?’” Carol asked with concern.

“Well—not anything. I mean, I’m fine right now only because I don’t want it to end. I mean—well—you know…”

Carol laughed, easing Therese’s embarrassment. “I know what you mean. Is that what that horrible place has done to you?”

“What?”

“Measure time by its end and not its continuation.”

“Um…I suppose so.”

Carol shook her head, muttering, “I can’t imagine. I suppose you’ve also learned to deaden yourself inside to handle dealing with constant verbal attacks against your intelligence.”

“Actually, I’m still working on that—”

Carol let out a noise of shock and dismay as she shook her head again. She looked at Therese, _through_ her. _Where did you go?_ Therese almost heard her say. What a disappointment she must have seemed. Her gaze lowered, unable to look back at Carol. 

“It’s temporary, though,” Therese added. “I’m still looking at museum jobs. They’re just…not in abundance right now.” 

“That’s good,” Carol murmured. “Perhaps something will show up, help you clear the fog from your forest.”

Therese smiled, remembering their old conversation. “I hope so. I would love to have a job I didn’t dread going to every day.”

“Because you love to do it, and it keeps you in the now. Measurement of time becomes moments that make you smile, breaths you hold in wonder, and the warm glow that proves you’re happy.”

Therese looked at her. Carol’s eyes were lit as if she were talking about writing. “Is that how you feel about your job?”

“Yes. I measure each class by the words spoken by students, then by how they communicate criticisms and whether they contribute to each other’s growth. If it’s successful, then…” Carol’s eyes bored into Therese’s. “I measure time by whom my words inspire.”

If Therese leaned forward just enough, her lips might have touched Carol’s. She could have said, _Me. They inspired me. I was a measurement of your time._

Her thoughts vanished when Carol said, “It’s almost noon. I should get you back.” Therese helped her tidy up and they returned to the car without another word spoken, nor did either speak on the way back. Only when they parked did Therese break the silence.

“I really enjoyed it.”

“Me, too.”

“Even though I’m not Abby?”

Carol sighed with a strained smile. “Therese.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll go ahead—”

Carol caught her wrist as she opened the door. “I had a wonderful time with _you_. We should do this again sometime.” 

Therese’s mood lifted. “I’d like that.” 

“Yeah? I’ll give you my number. Let me see your phone.” Quickly, Carol typed her number into Therese’s phone. “When you get off tonight, text me yours. We can plan our next outing.” 

Therese closed the door with joy. When she clocked back in, she headed to her assigned register with a skip in her step as she imagined herself and Carol having another picnic. Or watching a movie. Or shopping. 

A few customers came by, all without mistakes. There was another lull, and Therese habitually checked her wrist before remembering her watch stopped. Her breath caught in her chest as her eyes watered. _It’s okay. It’s okay,_ she tried to remind herself, but it only increased the tightness in her chest. She tried a different tactic: her shift would end no matter what. The CSMs would know the time. When they put her on break, two hours will have passed, and when they told her to turn off the light, her shift was over. But sometimes CSMs slipped up. One time, the CSM had overlooked the time Therese had to leave, and she ended up working another half hour.

_It’ll be over soon. No matter what happens, it’ll be over soon._

That helped for a moment, but then Carol’s voice echoed about the measure of time by the end, not the continuation, and again about measuring it through happy moments. Why did Carol have to say that? Didn’t she think that it would only make Therese feel worse? What happy things could Therese look forward to in this retail inferno?

 _Fuck the measure of time. It’ll be over soon. No matter how bad it gets, it’ll be over soon._ Her chest unraveled slowly. As long as she kept repeating it, she could breathe.

Her peripheral vision caught a customer approaching, forcing her to take a deep breath and compose herself. She looked to the belt first, noticing three items: a pound of sugar, a spoon, and a lighter. Her eyebrow arched as she rang up the items, and heard the barely concealed snicker from the person in front of her. Probably a college kid. Looking up, she burst out laughing.

Carol grinned back at her. “Forgot a few things,” she said. 

Therese said nothing, but bagged the items and handed Carol her receipt. “See you later,” Carol said as she walked away.

The amusement of the transaction stayed with Therese through the next hour. What could Carol have possibly needed with those three things? The more she thought about it, Therese wondered if the purchase was not of necessity, but for a different reason altogether. As she finished up with one customer, Carol appeared in front of her again. This time, there was a quart of whole fat milk, Imodium-AD, and a large pack of toilet paper. Therese unsuccessfully tried to stifle her laughter. When she could breathe again, she asked, “Still shopping for essentials?”

“Not for myself, no.”

Therese guffawed. Again, she handed Carol the receipt and Carol sauntered away with a mischievous countenance. Half an hour later, Therese took her break, and headed for the back. As she passed the women’s clothing, a flash of gold caught her eye. She paused to get a better look and sure enough, Carol was perusing underwear.

“You’re not,” Therese greeted with mock disdain.

“You’ve discovered my secret. My plan is foiled,” Carol sighed dramatically with a hand over her heart. “I suppose you’d like me to stop and go home.”

“No! I’m enjoying it too much. That is what the other things were for, right?”

“Mostly. I really did need the sugar and toilet paper, though. The milk and Imodium were for Abby. And the lighter.” She chuckled with a hint of wickedness, then eyed her vest. “Are you off work?”

“No, I’m on my fifteen minute break. Will I be seeing you when I go back up front?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s not as much fun if you know my malevolent plans.”

“Please? I’ve never had so much fun during a shift.”

Carol eyed her, pretending to make a decision both knew was already made. “Run along, my dear cashier. Enjoy your break.” She tossed Therese a conspiratorial wink before Therese hurried to the breakroom. 

There was only ten minutes left of her break, and she fidgeted the entire time with eagerness to return to the front. Never in the year and a half that she worked here had she ever felt that—such a foreign feeling. But for the first time, there was something to look forward to at the register. And the sooner she returned, the sooner it would occur. 

As soon as the clock’s minute hand reached three, Therese leapt from her chair to rush back to the front. As she waited on two customers, Therese kept glancing at the line to see if Carol had appeared. When one of them snapped at her, she smiled in return, unshaken.

Finally, Carol strolled up to the register, concealing the items behind her back. She stared at Therese— _Are you ready for this?_ Therese gave a quick nod and one by one, Carol revealed the items. Baby lotion. A wooden craft paddle. Yellow, high rise underwear with lavender trimming. 

Therese lost it.

Numerous glances were cast their way as both edged closer to hyperventilation. “Is this…is this…” Therese tried to speak, but couldn’t catch a single breath.

“For Abby? Oh, hell yes!”

Therese’s chest began to hurt. She tried to focus on sad things to sober her, but each glance up showed the god-awful underwear. A CSM stared at her, and Therese quickly grabbed the garment before drawing any further attention. Yet as soon as she scanned it, Carol reached for it, and proceeded to put them on over her pants. Therese focused all her willpower on maintaining control, looking anywhere possible that wasn’t Carol. When she held out the receipt, she found Carol standing straight with shoulders back and fists against her hips as they were thrust forward in an exaggerated Superman pose. 

Therese lost it again.

“Is there a problem?” a CSM asked, the same from earlier.

“It’s my fault. She looked so down, I had to come to her rescue,” Carol answered, striking the pose again. Even the CSM could barely conceal a snicker. “I’m a bad influence, but I’ll be out of your way. Ta-ta, Therese!” She took the receipt and the bag, and once again sauntered out of the store, still wearing the atrocious granny panties. 

When Carol was out of sight, the CSM giggled. “What was that?”

“I’m not sure,” Therese replied. “But it’s the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to me.”

An hour later, Carol came to the register again, no longer wearing the underwear. “How many times were you planning to do this?” Therese asked, already feeling laughter rising in her throat. 

“As many as I need to.” On the belt, Carol placed condoms, sleeping pills, and a box cutter. “Because what is this game without condoms?”

Therese scanned them all, grinning, though she winced as she touched the box-cutter. “Don’t tell me this is for Abby, too?”

“The condoms are. Sleeping pills and box cutter are mine. For entirely different purposes.”

“I see. Good luck tonight.”

Carol’s eyes widened at the bold statement. “Thank you,” she said. “I will.” Her mouth crept upward into a malicious smile that both scared Therese and made her wish she were Abby. 

As soon as Carol left, Therese slumped. She imagined Carol making love to Abby, and pictured herself in Abby’s place. To lay on the bed, looking up at Carol, while Carol touched her and kissed her—

“Excuse me? Is this register open?”

Therese’s eyes shot open to find a customer waiting with impatience. She mumbled an apology and completed the sale without further issue. She banished her earlier thought and focused on Carol’s next appearance. 

Once again, Carol came, holding the surprise behind her back. Therese nearly jumped with excitement until she noticed Carol’s expression was not one of amusement and mischief, but that proud parent glow Therese loved so much. 

“Do you know what time it is?” Carol asked.

Therese checked her wrist, finding it empty. It occurred to her that for the entire time since Carol had starting coming to her, Therese had forgotten all about her watch. She stared back at Carol in amazement.

“Time for you to earn a watch.” From behind her back, Carol revealed a men’s black athletic watch, equipped with a pedometer. “Do you like it? I can grab another if you—”

“It’s perfect,” Therese interrupted. She held the watch, forgetting that she needed to scan it. 

“Shall I pay now?” Carol joked, snapping Therese out of her reverie.

“Oh! Yes.” Scan and bag. Receipt. 

Carol smiled as she took back the watch. “Be right back.”

As Therese watched her go to Customer Service, another cashier approached to take her place. Therese signed off, then clocked out just in time for Carol’s return. 

“Hold out your wrist.” Therese’s eyes closed as she felt Carol’s fingertips on her skin. The watch fit comfortably. “There. You may now resume your measurement of time now that I’ve reminded you of mine.”

“Thank you,” Therese whispered.

Carol smiled. “Let me walk you to your car.” Her arm wrapped around Therese’s shoulders and Therese folded hers across Carol’s waist. Together, they exited the store and strolled to the back of the lot toward a white Ford Escort that looked like it was created the same year of Therese’s birth. 

“What do you do on Sundays?” Carol asked her.

“If it’s a day off, nothing in particular. What do you do?”

“A variety of things. I ask because Harge will have Rindy on Sunday, and I thought perhaps we might have lunch at my place. If you’re working, we can try another day, but you’re always more than welcome to visit me. There’s pretty country where I live, if you remember.”

“I’d love to have lunch with you on Sunday!”

“Wonderful! Go ahead and text me your number. Shall we make it around noon? We could do ten and make it a brunch.”

“Brunch at ten sounds better.”

Carol beamed at her. “I can’t wait. If I decide not to torture you again, I’ll see you Sunday.”

Therese hoped that she would return before then, though she knew it would be unlikely. “I enjoyed being tortured.”

“I’m sure you did! Only for you and Abby will I pull a stunt like that in those hideous briefs.”

Both laughed, this time not caring if strange looks were cast their way. When they calmed down again, Carol wrapped Therese into a hug. 

“Thank you,” Therese murmured into Carol’s shoulder. “For everything. Especially with that guy.”

Carol tightened her arms, pressing Therese closer to her. The scent of Carol’s perfume filled Therese’s nostrils, and she wished they could stay like this forever. “Nothing infuriates me more,” Carol whispered near Therese’s ear, “than someone being punished for what they cannot control.” 

“If only every customer were like you.”

“If only,” Carol concurred as she pulled away. “Then you would never need a watch.”

“Thank you again, though. I love it.”

“You’re welcome. Take care, Therese.” Carol rested a hand on Therese’s shoulder for a brief moment, then retreated toward her car. Therese watched her for a moment before entering her own. 

The usual relief of going home after work swept over her. After such an eventful day, she looked forward to resting with dinner and wine…and Richard. Shit. Again, she forgot it was his day off, and she knew he would ask about the damn apartments when she still didn’t want to think about it. After Reunion, she asked if they could wait, and Richard replied with frustration about how they couldn’t wait because apartments are selling out, Terry! 

She rubbed her face, already feeling the fatigue of an upcoming argument. Maybe she could feign illness, distract him from the topic. Maybe he wasn’t there at all. There were nights he would hang out with Jack Taft. She wanted to count on this being one of those nights; only one way to know. She stuck the key in the ignition and drove home.


	5. In Which Therese Questions Her Life and Relationship with Richard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and for your comments! I truly appreciate your kind words. <3 Chapter six will come as soon as it can, between new ideas and life happenings. 
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Rock music blared behind the door. Underneath the noise, she could hear his heavy footfalls back and forth across the living room, punctuating each turn with a sigh or groan. A quick check of her phone revealed three texts and two missed calls from him. She released a sigh of her own as she debated once again entering her home. This was getting to be ridiculous. Her phone lit up again: _were r u?_ Funny how he could be so worried about her when she didn’t come home, yet when he didn’t come home, she was a mother hen.

Resigning herself, Therese opened the door. Richard crossed the living room in two strides before he was next to her. “Where were you? Everything all right?”

“I’m fine. I decided to take a drive.”

“For two hours? You got off at four, right? You’ve been driving for two hours?”

“Okay, I also grabbed a coffee.”

She told the truth. After she left Walmart, she was halfway home when she thought about driving around Charlottesville, imagining herself having the day off to explore it with Carol, just as Carol had planned with Abby. There was still so much of Charlottesville she hadn’t seen, despite having lived there for two years. If she wasn’t working, she was at home or with Richard, and Richard’s idea of exploring was either bar-hopping or football games. Therese decided to spend an hour and a half getting lost in the city to find anything she wanted, including a small café on the edge of downtown where she sat inside with a cup of the most exquisite coffee she ever tried and wrote a few lines of poetry with some added doodles. She scrapped it afterward, but the mere actions of drinking and creating in that moment filled her with indescribable bliss that she knew she would have to share with Carol soon. After that, she returned home, and had been standing in front of her door for a full ten minutes. 

“Why didn’t you answer me when I texted you? I thought something might have happened,” Richard continued.

“I forgot to turn my phone off silent,” she replied as she turned off the radio.

“You didn’t check it once?”

“No. I was enjoying the isolation.”

“Next time, will you please text me or call me to say you won’t be home?”

“Next time, will you please give me some space and not panic if I don’t answer my phone?”

Both glared until Richard retreated and grabbed the phone to order dinner, not bothering to ask Therese what she wanted. Therese snatched a beer from the fridge and left for the bedroom. As she sat on her bed, she listened to Richard continue to pace after the call, huffing and sighing. A couple deep breaths calmed her down along with a glance at her watch. When she closed her eyes, she could feel Carol’s fingertips still grazing her wrist. 

“Is that a new watch?”

Richard loomed over her with his face scrunched as he noticed it. He took her wrist with some force to study it. “A bit big, isn’t it? I thought you were tight for money.”

“I am. I just…” How was she going to explain this? “My other one stopped.”

“Why didn’t you just get it fixed?”

“Because I…. Carol bought this for me, all right?”

Richard’s eyes flashed. Therese observed him with caution as he looked confused, angry, then amused. “Why would Carol buy you a watch? Does she still consider you her teacher’s pet?”

Therese almost slapped him. “No. I told her my about other one, and she decided to buy me a new one. I didn’t ask her to.”

Richard continued to grin, but it became tighter as his nostrils flared. “She just shows up at your store and buys you a watch?”

“Well, no…I mean…”

“What?” His voice was lower. “What else happened?”

“Why are you in such a suspicious mood?”

“Don’t you think it’s a little bit strange for a woman to spontaneously buy another one a watch when they haven’t seen each other in two years?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Of course you don’t, when you’re one of them.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nevermind.”

He started to retreat back to the living room, but Therese followed him. He could hear her, but he kept his back toward her. 

“No! I won’t. What is your problem, Richard?”

“I don’t know, Terry, what’s yours? I get worried about you and concerned about someone taking advantage of you, and I’m attacked for it.”

“Excuse me? You didn’t need to get worried about me just because I wasn’t home for two hours. And Carol buying me a watch isn’t her taking advantage of me. She was just being kind.”

Richard turned to face her, wearing that same tight smile. “You’re right. I’m being a prick. My girlfriend does something different, has a unique day. She even has a watch bought for her and thinks it’s the best gift ever, when I also bought her a watch, and it’s replaced like trash. And instead of being happy for her, I’m a prick because of course I would assume she was instead mugged or kidnapped after work. Or that my feelings are hurt because my gift wasn’t appreciated as much. My apologies.”

“Okay, I’m sorry about the watch. This is just more my style. I appreciated your watch; I really did. But it stopped and you know my thing about needing one during work, so Carol helped. That’s it. Nothing more. But more importantly, two hours late home instantly means harm to me?”

“Yes, to me it does,” Richard explained slowly, as if to a toddler. “You never do anything different.”

Therese’s voice caught in her throat, so that all she could emit was a squeak. She gulped the lump down, and started to say something coherent when a knock sounded. Richard walked past her to retrieve the pizza. As he shoved slices into his mouth, Therese remained standing in the living room, still shocked by his statement. 

“You eating or what?” Richard called after her. 

“Is that true? That I don’t do anything different?”

“Of course it is. You go to work, you come home, then have pizza with me or read and have tea. What’s wrong with that?”

Therese’s breath became erratic as she looked around her apartment. It struck her that not once in the two years she lived here, she entertained visitors besides Richard’s friends. She couldn’t remember the last evening she spent around town without them. With a gasp, she realized the truth of his words. Her life was a routine. 

“Ah, honey,” Richard sighed, lifting his arms to hold her. She shoved him away. 

“Don’t! Don’t even touch me.”

“Terry, I’m sorry. Forget I said it.”

She tried to move away, but he tightened his arms around her torso, forcing her to give up after a moment of struggling. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“What is my life, Richard?”

“Hey, hey, hey. You’re just in a rough spot, sweetheart. Museums don’t want you, so you’re discouraged and you’re afraid everyone will notice you’re failing. That’s all it is. You just need to get your feet on the ground, that’s all.”

“That…was probably the worst thing you could say to me.”

“I’m trying. You know I’m not good at this. What I mean is that it’s a rough time for you.”

Therese contemplated responding, but let it go because exhaustion crept through her as it always did during fights. Such a wonderful day and now this mess. Her life was a rut in which she fruitlessly trudged, getting so close to the edge of the ditch, only to lose her footing and slide back in until she thought it impossible to leave. She chuckled; what would Carol think of that analogy?

“Money’s tight,” her mind echoed through her tongue. “I feel lonely all the time.”

“All the time?” Richard asked, looking down at her.

She looked back up at him, eyes saddened. “Most of the time.”

“You know there’s a solution, right?”

Therese tried to pull away again. “Not now, Richard.”

Richard’s arms tightened again, preventing her escape. “You will never be lonely if we live together. Bills will be split which means more money for the both of us. We can even get a dog if we want.”

“You’re allergic.”

“Iguana, then. And I can help you go to those weight loss events you always miss. You’re always saying you want to lose weight.”

“ _You’re_ the one who keeps saying that.”

“The point _is_ we’ll both benefit from living together. Come on, Terry, say you will.”

Therese said nothing.

“Terry?” He continued to wait, yet only heard silence. Looking down, he saw her eyes squeezed shut. “What? Don’t you know I want to spend my life with you? Come live with me.” 

“Richard, I’m not ready for that! I can’t just make myself.” 

Richard, shocked by her tone, pulled away just enough to look at her fully. “What? Tell me.”

“Stop pressuring me. Please! How can you expect me to make up my mind when you’re breathing down my neck all of the time? The more you pressure me, the more I want to say no!”

When she made another effort to break from his arms, he relented, and stared at her as if she had slapped him. 

“Do you want to say no?”

“No! Well…I don’t… I’m trying to tell you not to force me into this decision. When I come to it, I will tell you. And I get it—they’re selling out! Well, you know what? If they do, let them, because one more year living apart isn’t going to hurt us, okay?”

“I just want to make sure you really want to be with me. And you just said that you were lonely all the time.”

Her anger drained out. Richard’s hands spread out in supplication, his eyes holding their puppy gaze that reminded her of their first weeks dating. She wondered if this was his way of claiming innocence or just calming her down. Either way, she sighed heavily while rubbing her eyes, wanting to go to bed already. 

She said, “Wanting to be with you does not have to require living with you. I would still want to be with you even if I weren’t ready to live with you yet. But that’s a decision I need to make on my own without you, okay? Like I said, living apart isn’t hurting us, so let’s not rush out of it. Please?”

She rubbed her eyes again and took a step toward the bedroom. God, she needed to sleep. 

“Okay,” she heard Richard say quietly behind her. “If that’s how you feel.”

“It is. Can we stop arguing now?”

Richard glanced at her, nodded, then noticed her constant sign of fatigue. He took her hands from her eyes and lifted her into his arms to carry her the short distance to the bed. She quickly stripped to her underwear while Richard removed his, before he curled up behind her.

“I love you, Terry,” he whispered in her ear.

Therese pretended to be sleeping. She was almost there, but she wanted to stay up until he fell asleep first. So she waited, and as she did, she felt him reach over and take her wrist. His fingers felt around her skin until he found the watch and proceeded to feel his way into removing it. 

“Back off, bitch,” he muttered under his breath as she heard a soft plop of a watch landing on her bean bag chair. Her face grew hot with anger, but she remained silent and still to wait. A few breaths, a couple turns, until finally, she heard the first snore. 

She rose and made her way back to the dining table where he had tossed his keys. Using her phone’s flashlight, she searched the ring until she found the key to her door. She glanced toward the bed to confirm he still slept, then twisted the ring until the key slid into her hand. 


	6. In Which Carol and Abby Discuss Therese

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics to "Crystals" and "Black Water" belong to Of Monsters and Men. I own nothing.

In real time, a clock would have read 6:47. Sunlight began to peek above the windowsill until a ray swept across the room to rest on Carol’s eyes. She stirred, opening them just to close them again against the brightness. She smiled, breathed a good morning to the sun, and turned over. 

In Carol’s time, it was Waking Up to Sunlight. After that came Abby Curses the Sun, a moment marked by a sharp inhale, the smack of a hand against eyes, and indistinct grumbling as a body turned over to sidle next to Carol’s.

“Do you ever close your curtains?”

“I like the sun. It’s a natural, silent alarm clock.”

“It’s a pain in the ass.”

Carol chuckled, taking Abby’s hand and kissing the knuckles until the grumbling subsided into a pleasured sigh, and she returned the gesture by kissing along Carol’s shoulder. She then nuzzled against her back; _Good morning._ Carol squeezed Abby’s hand twice: _Good morning._

Abby nestled closer to Carol. It felt a bit uncomfortable at first; Abby’s body radiated heat like a brick oven, and too much physical contact could make Carol sweat sometimes, but for now she endured it to enjoy the feel of her lover. She focused on the face resting between her shoulder blades, arm over her left-side ribs while a hand held her right side, hips against butt, and toes gently rubbing the bottom of her feet. Even if she required a shower after this, she would stay in this position for as long as possible. And since it was early, she could afford a few more minutes of sleep.

“No breakfast?” Abby mumbled.

Or not. 

“I just woke up. Isn’t it a bit early for you, anyway?” Abby groaned. “Give me a few minutes, and I’ll get out there.”

She could feel Abby’s smile as she nuzzled again into Carol’s back. Carol turned over, careful to avoid the sun in her eyes, and gently glided her hand along her lover’s face. Abby’s features were slightly distorted by the press of the pillow, but it looked as if an extra five years had been taken off her. Abby had the features of looking ten years younger with her round cheeks and full lips, as well as a smile that constantly lit up her russet eyes. Carol liked to think it was also because her wardrobe, which consisted primarily of faux leather and tight, bright tank-tops. 

A stray shamrock lock of hair made its way in front of Abby’s face. Carol brushed it back against the darker, chestnut bedhead that angled in all sorts of directions. Abby entwined her fingers through Carol’s, and opened her eyes to return her gaze. She tapped Carol’s nose with her own, and Carol returned the gesture.

Abby leaned in close until her lips fitted with Carol’s, then lifted herself on top to rub their bodies together once in a silent question. Carol responded by arching her back, and both commenced the time of morning Carol titled, First Breakfast.

 

An hour later, Abby sat at the kitchen island with coffee in hand while Carol stood at the griddle, wearing her red plaid robe that she left open for Abby’s constant leering. Both enjoyed the comfortable silence between them, letting their conversation consist of sizzles and slurps, then scrapings of forks against plates. 

Eventually, words made their way between them as Abby asked, “What are you doing on Sunday? I thought we could try to go to Charlottesville again.”

Carol paused mid-bite. She took a moment to choose her words while Abby remained focused on her food. “As wonderful as that sounds, I actually have plans on Sunday.”

“Oh? What will you and Rindy be doing?”

Carol paused, quietly inhaling. “It’s not with Rindy. Or Harge.” She listened for another question from Abby, but Abby only waited for her to continue. “I have a friend coming over.”

This time, Abby paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. She set it back down, and stared at Carol with her eyes widening in curiosity. More silence. Carol waited. Abby twirled her fork toward Carol: _Yes? Go on._ Carol said nothing. “You want to tell me about her?” she prompted.

“Therese? She’s a former student of mine.” Another twirl of Abby’s fork: _And?_ “ _And_ if you don’t finish eating, I’ll finish it for you!” Abby was undeterred. Carol sighed, staring into a penetrating gaze. “I can have friends, you know.”

“Of course I know, but it’s been a while since you’ve invited any of them over—no, thesis parties don’t count. I mean close friends.”

“Maybe I’m getting back into the habit.”

Abby didn’t answer right away. Just scraping her fork mindlessly across the plate. She sighed. “So…?”

“I knew I should have waited to tell you.” Carol snapped. “You always assume.”

Abby slammed her fork down and glared at Carol, only for Carol to return it. “Because I’m always worried about you,” Abby replied as she stood up and came to Carol’s side. “I don’t like the idea of you being lonely.”

“I’m not lonely. I have you and Rindy and Harge.”

“Alone and lonely are not the same thing. You’re not alone, but you’re lonely. Like Cassandra—”

“Don’t. Abby, just don’t start this.” Carol shoved Abby’s hand off her shoulder and tried to take another bite of food, only to find her appetite gone. 

“How long has it been since she died?”

“Abby!”

“How long, Carol?”

Carol sighed again with anger and tried to remember. “Seven breakdowns, ten missed appointments and canceled plans, four dismissed suggestions to seek therapy, and three broken glasses.”

“Exactly. Carol, I support you in all of your decisions, but this isolation you’ve brought on yourself isn’t going to take away any of the pain.”

“We are not talking about this, Abigail.” Carol’s voice was one breath away from growling. Abby wanted to continue, but the glare she saw stopped her without further argument. She retreated back to her seat and they finished their meal in silence. 

After Carol placed the dishes in the sink, they remained at the kitchen island, sipping their coffees as their presence to the other began to wear down their frustration. Anger could never stay long between them; soon, Carol laced her fingers through Abby’s. The quiet conversation resumed through the simple sounds of sips and sighs of contentment. 

Abby casually glanced to the right, then stood up to walk toward the table beside the door. She grabbed a white object, examined it, then held it up for Carol to see. _Of Monsters and Men, Beneath the Skin._

“Therese,” Carol explained. 

Abby nodded, then gestured toward the CD player. Carol nodded back, and Abby inserted the CD. The first song began like a battle drum, led by the female vocal as she sang about what Carol interpreted to be about being lost.

 _I know I’ll wither, so peel away the bark…_ Abby smiled and lightly nudged Carol’s right arm. _…’cause nothing grows when it is dark._ Another nudge, harder. Carol’s smile faded a bit, and returned by the next verse. By the time the bridge came around again, Carol lifted up her sleeve in time to the music to reveal her tattoo of skin having been carved away to reveal tree bark beneath. On the next lyric, Abby placed her hand against the artwork and mouthed the words. Carol inhaled and dropped her sleeve. The rest of the song passed with rocking heads and finger drums. 

The second and third songs explored humanity’s fight with their animal impulses—at least Carol interpreted it that way. She mentally noted to discuss these particular ones with Therese on Sunday. The fifth sounded like something Carol wanted to sing to Therese: a declaration of coming of age and overcoming your fears to pursue your challenges. She thought the sixth to be nice and enjoyed the sad simplicity of the seventh. 

Abby glanced at the track listing, then drew a quick breath. When Carol looked at her, she passed the album over so that Carol could see the name of the eighth song: “Black Water.” She looked back at Abby to find her eyes gauging Carol’s reaction. Carol shrugged, squeezed Abby’s hand in reassurance, then walked to the counter for another coffee. 

_I need nothing to travel the sea. I need nothing. I need nothing._

Abby watched Carol closely. Carol poured the coffee and opened the container of hot cocoa.

_But there’s something eating at me._

Carol hesitated—only for a moment, but Abby didn’t miss it. Abby set her coffee down and waited. 

_Black water, take over._

Carol stopped. Waited.

_Swallowed by a vicious, vengeful sea. Darker days are rai—_

Her hand smashed the stop button. Her eyes widened, jaw set, and nostrils flared as her chest rose and fell to the beat of shaky exhales. Abby rushed to her side and rubbed her back in quick circles. Carol said nothing, regulated her breathing until it evened. A hand gently covered Abby’s right.

“Blue,” Abby instructed.

“Cyan, periwinkle, sky, navy, royal, cobalt, sapphire, Tardis.”

“Green.”

“Shamrock, emerald, grass, pear, lime, granny smith, mint, pistachio.”

“Better?”

Carol sighed, nodding. Her body slumped against Abby’s, head on shoulder, arms returning an embrace, until after a few minutes, she returned to fixing her coffee. Abby sat down, still keeping an eye on Carol, who was now sighing again and rubbing her face.

“I overreacted.”

Abby rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a stupe.”

“I mean it,” Carol replied, turning to face her. “Zillions of breaths since that one, and proof I won’t utter it, and yet…” She shook her head, began to speak, then shook it again.

“Carol,” Abby muttered, “it’s okay to be scared.”

“Scared of what? I survived, Abby! It can’t threaten me anymore.” 

“Are you afraid—it will…?”

“No.” Carol’s eyes shot up to match Abby’s. Abby shuddered. “It’s gone. It’s not coming back.” Abby began to speak, but Carol’s eyes made her wither back down. Her hand reached toward the CD player, but lingered halfway until it trembled. Carol slammed it down and breathed again. Neither moved nor spoke for several heartbeats. 

“I don’t know, Abby,” Carol exhaled at last, sinking down along the cabinets until she sat slumped in the corner. Her legs drew up to her chest, hiding her coffee, which she gripped as if it would disappear. Abby lowered herself into a cross-legged position before her.

“I don’t know what I’m afraid of anymore. Therese and…the nightmares.”

“You’re afraid of losing her. You’re seeing an ending before there’s even a beginning.”

Carol said nothing, but hung her head, connecting her forehead to her knees. “I haven’t even mentioned if I want a beginning with her!”

“Do you?”

Her face was hidden, but Abby could hear the strained chuckle escape from the huddled frame. Carol’s head then lifted up, a smile stretched across her face that carried a history Abby hadn’t heard. That was as good as a yes. 

“She may not want a beginning,” Carol argued anyway. “What if she doesn’t want our kind of relationship?”

“Then that’s her choice and it’ll be one more thing that’s not your fault. At least you tried.”

“But why am I still scared of…you know.”

“Because you don’t want it to come back.”

“It won’t.”

Abby wanted to argue, tell her that such thought was dangerous. But she was tired of replaying the same argument, so instead, she reached forward and took one of Carol’s wrists, taking it off the mug so that their fingers could entwine. Twitch by shift, Carol’s body unfurled until her legs stretched out with hands on her thighs and mug by her side. 

“So,” Abby prompted. “ _Now_ will you tell me about her?”

Carol laughed and regaled Abby with her past meetings with Therese and a few extraordinary anecdotes from when she was her student. Every now and then, Abby’s brow furrowed with slight recognition, but couldn’t quite picture the face to the name. As Carol continued to speak, a small, easily missed hint jogged Abby’s memory.

“Wait—did you say she painted?” Carol nodded, and looked at her with the question of _Why?_ “Is she the same one who painted that picture in your office?” Again, a nod. 

Abby’s face erupted into a grin that melted quickly into raucous laugher. Carol looked at her in horrified confusion, and Abby gasped, “It’s about time!” Carol’s countenance remained unchanged. “She’s the one who painted…. Carol, you doted on her.” 

It was Carol’s turn to not remember. Abby stared at her, uncomprehending how this woman could forget so easily. “‘Therese has such a way with colors, it’s as if she communicates through it. Therese said this in class and I swear the world fell out of orbit in wonderment. Sometimes I wish Therese wasn’t my student because all I want is for her to run her brushes over me and paint me in every existing color.’”

“I did not say that.”

“I was paraphrasing. You did say all that.”

Carol’s face reddened the color of punch. Her mouth worked up and down to form coherent words, but all that emerged were syllables of denial. “I…uh…no…um…” 

Abby smirked. Sound soon sunk back down into silence as she held her finger against Carol’s lips. “Yes, you did. No, she’s not your student anymore, so yes, you can do something about it now. Go for it.”

“Okay,” Carol whispered. A smile tugged at her mouth, which Abby encouraged with a kiss. Carol shifted until her back settled against Abby’s chest, and Abby stroked the valley between her breasts. 

“What would I do without you?” Carol asked.

“Don’t.” Abby nipped Carol’s ear. “Besides, you have some explaining to do.”

“What else do you need to know about her?”

“No, no. I’m not talking about Therese. I’m talking about that yellow atrocity you dressed me in last night and the wooden paddle you spanked me with. Would you mind telling me now what kink that satisfied?” 

Abby waited for an answer, but Carol couldn’t provide one. She was laughing too hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Chapter 7 will come when it can--it's the brunch scene, so it will be long and require lots and lots of attention to detail. So I can't guarantee a time estimate, but I can guarantee you're going to love it. :)


	7. In Which Carol and Therese Have Brunch

Therese had showered, brushed her teeth twice, and dressed in a beige top with a white floral design that branched across her left side, with matching brown boots and blue jeans. Her watch read 7:27 as she gazed at herself for the twelfth time. After several minutes of deliberation, she donned a bright red wristband meant for a watch and turned it so that the buckle faced upward; Carol would be amused at her influence. A final check in the mirror confirmed that she was ready to go. In another rush of excitement, she hurried out the door and down the steps before turning around because she forgot to close and lock her door. 

The entire way, she tried to maintain 80 mph, but constantly found her speedometer to read 90. She took to tailing an SUV traveling at 75 in the outside lane to avoid the sight of blue lights in her rearview. The frequent slowing down and speeding up irritated her, but she would rather make it to Carol’s on time and without a ticket. Plus, the slow drive allowed her the occasional wandering of thought, which of course, always traveled ahead of her to Carol’s house. Therese played out several scenarios of what they would discuss, what they would do, what confessions they would make. More than half of her imaginings involved an embrace that lasted minutes, hours, eternity—never leaving the safe comfort of Carol’s arms. Every now and then, she pictured herself looking up into those grey eyes, lifting her lips until they brushed against Carol’s.

The SUV braked, forcing Therese to slam on hers and ripping her from her daydreams. She checked her mirrors and blind-spots, then slid into the inside lane before the SUV could speed up again. If her car drifted to 90, she let it stay there. Scenarios still replayed while she kept a cautious watch for police cars. 

Exit 156 off I-81. Fincastle. Down a residential street, past the elementary school, finished by ten minutes along a country road. It amazed her how much she remembered the route from the last time she came this way. Of course, Carol tried to refresh her memory through a phone call the night before, but Therese could never remember verbal directions, and looking at an online map didn’t occur to her until after Carol hung up. 

Just a few more minutes. Therese kept her eye mainly on the right side of the road, hoping not to miss the house. She remembered it being on a hill, a bit hidden if you weren’t paying attention. At last, it came into view: a log cabin style house with a rocky driveway that went around to the back, where there was a garden of vegetables and flowers lining the pathway to the back porch. Therese parked her car beside Carol’s and took a moment to savor the fact that she was here, that all she had to do was to go inside and she would spend the rest of the afternoon with Carol. When she emerged from the car, she found Carol peeking through the kitchen window and opening the back door to step out. 

“Hey, stranger!” Carol greeted.

Therese managed a hello before slowing her step as she took in Carol’s outfit: button-up top, white background that faded into the blue of a tree design spanning across Carol’s chest, over her shoulders, around her sides, and dark blue jeans and red converses to provide the necessary contrast. Carol glanced at Therese’s outfit, alternating between impressed and amused. 

“I see our minds were in tune this morning,” she laughed.

“I decided if you were never color-coordinated, neither would I.” Therese flashed her wristband.

“One of my rules in life is that it is too short for color coordination,” Carol replied as she ushered Therese into the house. 

It had been two years since Therese was here, and it was only once, but when she crossed the threshold again, it felt like coming home. Like the office, the house was as she remembered it: rustic wood-paneled rooms jazzed up with mismatching décor. Her eyes wandered from piece to piece, studying the yellow and orange banjo player above the blue sofa, the autumn maple tree lamp beside the green armchair, and Jackson Pollock’s _Convergence_ hanging above the fireplace. 

The kitchen’s scheme, however, at least had some theme to it: a private coffee-shop, with blue and brown kitchen towels picturing different drinks, brown and white paintings of javas garnishing the walls, and to complete it all, a full pot of coffee waiting on the counter. Carol poured each of them a cup, listing the locations of condiments, and Therese searched the spice rack for cinnamon and cayenne pepper, earning a fascinated look from Carol. 

“I see I’m not the only one who takes her coffee unconventional.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe it’s my assortment of acquaintances, but rarely do I find someone who fixes a coffee with more than cream and sugar.”

Therese smiled, ecstatic to think of herself as another exception in Carol’s life. “How do you take yours?”

Carol displayed her container of hot cocoa before adding two tablespoons. “Makes it a delicious mocha,” she explained. 

“To unconventional coffee,” Therese said, holding up her mug in a toast.

“And living without color schemes,” Carol added. The mugs met with a loud, satisfying clink. Both sipped their drinks, and emitted a harmonious hum of delight. 

“Well,” Carol said, looking at the rest of the counters and the island, where all sorts of dishes were fully or half-prepared. She scanned each one, her gaze falling from excited to confused. “I don’t remember what I was working on. That looks prepared, that…. Forgive me, I’m in a rather forgetful state. Ah! I’ve made the chicken salad and the coffee cake. The quiche is in the oven, and I was just about to start the creamed spinach. If you would like to poach two eggs, that would be wonderful.”

Therese happily set to work, pulling out the eggs and adjusting the stove as Carol gave her instructions on what to do. While they cooked, they dived into the coffee cake, eating half of it before the quiche was ready. Carol set their places and dishes on the island while Therese poured them each another cup of coffee. This time, they tried the other’s fixings: one added hot cocoa to hers and the other sprinkled hers with cayenne and cinnamon. Therese enjoyed the chocolate flavor, while Carol had to recover from her first sip.

“Spicy,” she breathed. “But delicious.” She sat down beside the younger woman, diving first into the chicken salad and adding a generous helping onto her plate as if it would be the last she would ever have it. “I’m starved. Bon appétit.” 

They slipped into comfortable silence for a few minutes to enjoy the meal and content themselves on the other’s presence. Eventually, their conversation began with questions and answers about Therese’s life at work and venting about rude customers. Then Carol shared anecdotes from classes and her hopes for this next year. She spoke of lessons she wanted to emphasize, and Therese watched the passion spark in her eyes and her voice lift in excitement. Carol was in love with her own lessons. 

Her eyes dimmed, however, when she spoke of a class she had always wanted to co-teach with Professor Sparrow. A study of sound in writing and storytelling, in which both the history of storytelling and the auditory elements would be explored, with a lesson or two discussing Greek and Roman plays, and which sounds best carried through the masks of the actors and out to the audience of the amphitheater. How to convert the history into modern storytelling, which sounds to excite kids and others to soothe adults as if through song. However, Carol said, she doubted the class would ever exist, considering she didn’t know the other Classical Studies professors and doubted if she wanted to even try working with them.

“But what happened to Professor Sparrow?” Therese asked. “Did she accept a job elsewhere?”

Carol froze, and replied quietly, not looking at Therese. “You didn’t hear about it?”

“No. What?”

Carol tried to answer, but could only sigh and instead stood up and disappeared down the hall. Therese heard a box unlock followed by shuffling papers. When Carol returned, she held out a large program, saying only, “That means you didn’t go to the service, either.” The program was for the memorial service during the last day of Reunion, to remember and honor deceased faculty and alumnae. Therese skimmed through the list of faculty until she found the name:

_Cassandra Sparrow_ , Classical Studies

“Oh,” was all Therese could manage. “Carol, I am so sorry.”

“Ten months ago from a heart condition no one knew about,” Carol explained, her voice distant.

“Oh.” Therese could not find any more words. Carol took the program back and disappeared again for a few minutes longer than before.

When she returned, she smiled tightly, as if to convince them both that everything was still alright. “My apologies for that depressing turn,” she said. “Let’s change the subject. Something happy. How is your watch working? I noticed you chose my fashionable taste over it.”

Therese glanced at her wrist, having forgotten she was wearing anything on her wrist at all. “It’s great. Much easier to see the time without being obvious. I’m sorry I’m not wearing it.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m glad you aren’t wearing it; another rule of mine is no functioning clocks are allowed in my house unless there’s an emergency.”

Therese’s brow furrowed as she glanced behind her at the living room. There was one clock her eyes had skimmed over before, and now with a closer look, realized that the hands were both stopped at five minutes to twelve. She tilted her head in confusion, then laughed. “Doomsday?”

Carol shrugged with a faint smile. “We’re always five minutes from death, no matter how we measure the time.” 

Therese sobered a bit from Carol’s opinion. She turned back to her meal, chancing a glance at Carol, who had stopped eating and instead hovered her fork over her food, mostly likely thinking of Professor Sparrow again. Therese thought it best to steer the conversation once again toward a lighter tone.

“So you live outside conventional color schemes and time measurements. Such a rebel.”

To her relief, Carol threw her head back and laughed. “I’ve been called rebel, absurd, immature, and even communist. All for tacky clothing and new ways of experiencing my life.”

“How do you deal with that?”

“I take them as compliments. If conventional people insult me, it means I’m doing everything right.”

“And if they call you normal?”

“Then they clearly don’t know how to insult people.”

A renewal of laughter filled the room as they finished their food and set about cleaning the island. After they downed the last of their coffees, Carol looked out of the window to check the thermometer. “Before it gets too hot,” she said, “would you be interested in a walk?”

In five minutes, they were strolling through the forest along a barely visible trail that Carol remembered Harge making for her not long after they bought the house. Therese watched her smile as she fingered the leaves and bark of different trees, occasionally examining a bug or two, as if seeing it for the first time. Neither spoke for a while, and Therese began to appreciate how they didn’t have to; their presences were enough.

After another ten minutes, Carol inquired, “Tell me, how is your forest looking today?”

“Not much different,” Therese replied casually. “It’s a bit sunnier, though.” She glanced at Carol.

“I’m glad. Perhaps the sun will eventually dissipate the fog.”

“I hope it will.”

“I’m sure it will.” Carol punctuated her certainty with a wink, and Therese bashfully looked away. “Just remember what I said: sometimes the best of adventures happen when we are lost.”

“I can’t wait for mine.”

Carol looked sideways at her with a smile as if she were the one deciding Therese’s future. “What kind of adventure would you like?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I like to imagine going on fantasy adventures. You know, world on the edge of apocalypse and I charge in with a sword on a horse and save everyone. Or granted the gifts of a god as I tackle a supernatural force threatening the universe.”

“And if you had to stick to realistic adventures?” Carol teased, playfully nudging Therese’s arm.

Therese thought about her answer. After a few moments, she replied, “I want an adventure that when it’s over, I know where I fit in this world and I’ve made a difference. I come out stronger, confident. And I have a guide to help. Like, uh, like a Galadriel, who shows me a mirror or gives me a tool to help me. Some sort of safety thing that helps me get to where I want or need to be.” She felt her eyes welling. “Because I sure as hell can’t figure it out.”

“How long would the guide stay?” Carol asked, resting a hand on Therese’s shoulder. 

Therese locked eyes with her. “As long as she could.”

Carol’s eyebrow arched. “She?”

“Oh, well…um…he, too, I guess. It doesn’t have to be a she,” Therese fumbled. Carol just kept smiling. 

“But you want her to be.”

Therese refused to respond. Carol chuckled and let the conversation drop while she fell back into the rhythm of examining bugs and caressing branches. Another few minutes of comfortable silence while Carol enjoyed holding a ladybug, Therese’s mind wandered until she imagined herself in Carol’s arms, and she would tell her old professor exactly how much she missed her and how she felt she had wasted the years she never kept in touch. How she wanted Carol to be the guide and the tool for the quest—

“What are you thinking?” Carol asked casually, still looking at the ladybug crawling down her wrist. “You have the look of a poem sprouting within you. What is it?”

“Oh, it’s ridiculous—”

“Didn’t I teach you better than to judge your words before they exist?” 

Therese smiled at the memory of that lesson. “Don’t assume anything about it, but…. ‘Why is it,/ should we kiss,/ only our saliva/ would be shared?’”

Carol turned toward her, the ladybug now having flown away, and viewed Therese with interest. “That’s beautiful. I’m sure there will be more to it, but for what you have now, what is the overall message?”

“Just that a kiss should transfer more than spit. Wouldn’t it be nice if every time we kissed someone, we inherited a bit of wisdom from them? Like, uh, a spiritual transfer?”

Carol tilted her head, still looking at Therese as she pondered. “Yes. I think it would be lovely. We might understand each other a bit better that way. But, alas, as you clearly stated, only saliva and chemical reactions we title emotions are shared. Kisses are also good ways to measure time.”

“How do you measure a lifetime?” Therese asked as the question struck her. Carol looked at her curiously. “Well, you usually measure it by heartbeats. How do you apply that to a lifetime?”

Carol laughed. “I don’t. I measure life by the people I love. You’ve heard ‘Seasons of Love’ from _RENT_ , haven’t you? That’s how I measure a lifetime, not just a year.”

“So how old are you now?” Therese teased.

Carol thought for a moment and counted on her fingers. “Six: mother, Abby, Harge, Rindy, and Cassandra. You?”

Several seconds passed as Therese looked down and thought about it. “Three: Danny and Richard.”

“That’s two.”

“You only named five.”

“Really? I thought for sure I named six.” 

Therese waited for Carol to ask who her third was, but when there wasn’t a question, she playfully remarked, “I know who the sixth is.” Carol stopped and stared at her, her eyes cautious as if caught in a secret. “Your lessons. You’re in love with your own words. It shows in your eyes every time you talk.”

Carol seemed stunned for a moment, until her face brightened and her head tilted back with laughter. “I suppose I am.” She looked back at Therese. “Would you consider painting to be your third?”

“I suppose so, especially if I get back into it.” She almost continued, when something struck her mind and she found herself asking aloud, “Cassandra. Professor Sparrow?”

She had to look at Carol for the answer, for the older woman could only nod. “She’s one of my six years, yes.” Before Therese could respond, Carol said quickly, “Well, I remember Richard, but who’s Danny?”

A smile tugged at Therese’s lips as she answered, “My little brother. He’s about sixteen now.” She could have gone on, but she didn’t want to go into the rest of her family. “I’m not sure if Richard counts anymore. Carol, how do you know if you really love someone and want to be with them?”

Carol stopped and turned to face her. “There are many ways, but sometimes you don’t always know. Do you want to spend the rest of your life waking up to them, spending time with them, going to bed with them?”

Therese pictured Richard’s face as he snored, reminding him to take his aspirin, going everywhere with him and his friends, then hearing him yell when she did something on her own. She tried to pair it with the artist from Roanoke College that she met during the spring cotillion, who shared her love for painting and made her laugh. Had he been a little more of the man she used to know, she might have said yes.

“How do _you_ know if someone is right for you?”

Carol kept her eyes down and closed as she pondered the question. Once or twice, her lips parted to answer, only to close again as her brow furrowed. “If I trust them enough,” she said slowly, “to be by my side on my death—no. If I trust them enough to stay with me, then I know I love them enough.”

Therese stared at her, questions piling in her mind that she didn’t dare share. If Carol wouldn’t tell her without asking, Therese wouldn’t force her. But she wanted to know if that was why Carol divorced Harge, if she had been hurt enough to be distrustful, if Harge had hurt her. 

One question seemed innocent enough—almost an exchange—but before Therese could voice it, Carol wondered, “You’re not in love, are you, Therese?” Her voice was so quiet that Therese could not tell if the question was rhetorical.

She ached to tell the truth. “No.”

“But you’d like to be.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“That doesn’t answer the question.” Carol’s grey eyes were darker, but anger didn’t seem the right emotion. The corners of her lips tilted upward and her gaze made Therese shiver. What was it? A challenge?

“Yes. Yes, I would.” She added, “Do people always fall in love with what they can’t have?”

Carol’s countenance softened. “Always.” 

Therese went to ask Carol if she was in love, but before the first syllable escaped, Carol suggested that they go back inside as the heat was starting to reach its uncomfortable high. Neither spoke, but every now and then, Therese glanced at Carol as she shifted between sunlight and shadow. By the time they reached the back door, both were covered in sweat and preferable to cooling down before resuming any conversation.

Carol peeked into the freezer and let out a delighted “Yes!” when she pulled out coffee ice cream. She asked if Therese wanted a milkshake, to which Therese replied with her own delighted yes. They leaned against the kitchen counters with their drinks, Therese’s eyes wandering over the décor again. Carol slid over to stand beside her, saying nothing, but finding contentment in only her presence. Once, she playfully bumped the younger woman with her shoulder, and when Therese responded in kind, they began a contest of who could push the other further, until Therese pushed so far, Carol nearly fell sideways and called it defeat. 

She looked so happy that Therese felt bold enough to ask if Carol was in love. Yet, right as her mouth formed the words, Carol’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, and laughed before noticing Therese’s questioning look.

“Oh, it’s just that moment when my lover likes to brag about a certain date she has for the evening. This time it’s a—what did she call her—a _serious_ Rita Hayworth redhead.”

Therese’s brow knit with worry. “A date? Romantic date?”

“Well, yes. Our relationship is open.” Eyes darted between her phone and Therese, who looked confused. “We’re together, but she has casual flings and I have another relationship.”

“So you’re…”

“Polyerotic, if you need to label it. I find it unnecessary.”

“Is that any different from polyamory?”

“Yes. One’s philologically correct and the other’s an abomination of the Classical languages. Greek with Greek, or so Cassandra said. She loved to drill it into me. Frequently.” Carol watched her warily. They stared at each other, until Carol’s phone buzzed again. Therese tried to look away, but found her eyes darting to the screen.

_Land this plane, Carol. LAND IT!_

Carol scoffed and silenced the phone before leaving it on the counter, while Therese wondered about the meaning of the message. Did it mean what she thought it meant? Instead of looking beside her, Carol kept her eyes on the floor. “Does that bother you, Therese? About my relationship?”

Therese took a moment to form a coherent sentence. “I’ve heard of it, but never actually knew anyone who…you know. So I’m a little surprised, but really…no. I’m not bothered.”

She could feel Carol slumping as she relaxed, letting out a long exhale. “Good,” she said, and lifted her hand to Therese’s shoulder, squeezing it. “I would hate for it became an awkward topic between us. It usually is among my other friends.”

Therese wanted to inquire, but kept her mouth closed. She wouldn’t pry. Nor would Carol offer permission, she thought, as Carol took her gently by the arm to guide her to the living room, saying only, “I think we’ve been standing long enough. Let’s talk about something else.”

Therese’s mind stumbled through various topics that might interest Carol. She looked around for a conversational piece until she found a familiar white object sitting on the dining table. 

“Oh! Did you listen to the CD I gave you?”

“Y-yes. I did. Well, half of it. I didn’t exactly…get a chance to finish it.” Her face lifted again, the half-smile now a full grin. “But from what I did hear, you were right: I would say one of the themes is maintaining your humanity when it is the most threatened, best exemplified through ‘Human.’ Another I believe is balancing your human mind with your animal instincts, exemplified through ‘Hunger.’” Her eyes skimmed Therese over, her smile becoming mischievous. “I like to think ‘Empire’ describes you best.”

Therese laughed. “Really? I feel like ‘Black Water’ is my life right now.”

“How so?” Carol’s voice was so quiet that Therese almost didn’t hear the question.

“Well, I think the black sea is depression, which can feel like it’s swallowing you. You don’t need anything to have depression because it affects you no matter who you are, and the longer you have it, the longer you seem to lose yourself. So for me, I have depression, and I feel like it’s a huge reason for why I seem lost all the time and need someone else to help me figure my shit out.”

“Therese,” Carol murmured, leaning forward with her chin resting on her hand. “Who exactly do you want to be your guide?”

_Now or never_ , Therese thought. She cleared her throat, opened her mouth, and almost formed the word—

Only for the back door to open and Carol to jump up to face the intruder. Therese stood up with her as a tall man with curly black hair and glasses, wearing a black sweater and blue jeans inched around the fireplace. Therese recognized him immediately. 

“Harge, what’s wrong?” Carol asked him.

“Nothing. I tried texting you to tell you I was stopping by, but—oh.” He had not seen Therese before now, and when he did, his eyes widened in embarrassment. “I didn’t know you were having company.”

“I didn’t tell you? I thought for sure…well, nevermind. What do you need? Is Rindy alright?”

Before she finished the question, a blur with light brown hair barreled past her father. “Mommy!”

“Hello, my darling!” Carol greeted as she picked up her daughter.

“Rindy forgot Jacopo and the watercolor set, so we wanted to grab them. But who is this lovely person here?” 

“Oh! This is Therese Belivet, a former student and dear friend of mine. We were just having brunch together. Therese, my daughter, Rindy, and Harge, my best friend.”

“Next to Abby,” Harge added with a laugh. 

“Well,” Carol remarked with a slight, but playful, eye roll.

“I met you before,” Therese said. “Two years ago before a thesis party. You were leaving with Rindy.”

Harge stared at her, before recognition flickered. “Oh! You’re the one who painted that picture in her office, weren’t you?” Therese nodded, and to her surprise, he grinned as if he heard a hilarious punchline. Carol glared back at him as if waiting for him to voice his mind, but he instead commented, “I’m sorry, I’ve just heard a lot about you. From Carol, of course. But I’ll go ahead and get the toys.”

He retreated to Rindy’s room. Carol’s eyes were closed as she shook her head in exasperation. Therese was gazing at her with a smile tugging at her lips. Carol had talked about her, about the picture. 

“You forgot Jacopo?” Carol asked her daugher, unable to say more about Harge’s remark. Rindy nodded. “That’s unusual. How did you manage that, sweet pea?”

“You forgot to include him with my things, Mommy.”

Carol’s face fell. “I did? Mommy seems to be forgetting a lot of things lately, isn’t she?”

Harge reappeared with a sock monkey. “I can’t find the watercolor set; I thought it was in her room. You okay?”

“We’ll look for it together,” Carol replied hurriedly. “You stay out here, sweetie. Mommy wants to talk to Daddy alone for a moment.” 

She mouthed a quick apology toward Therese before they disappeared into another room, and from it came faint whispers. The words were indistinguishable, but the general tone suggested a fight between playful and irritated. The playful sobered up as the irritated faded into sadness. 

“Mommy doesn’t feel well sometimes,” Rindy commented, staring up at Therese. “Just wanted you to know.”

“Everyone doesn’t feel well now and then. Is it something serious?” It was becoming obvious that something was wrong with Carol. Between the memory and saddened silences, Therese believed there loomed a secret she wasn’t allowed to know.

“Aunt Abby says it’s because of the sickness in her chest. She says Mommy’s better now, but that it still hurts her sometimes.”

There was silence for a moment as Therese debated whether to ask the child to continue. She shouldn’t pry— _would not_ pry—yet worry for Carol scratched at her mind. But if Carol didn’t want to tell her, then there was no way Therese would force the answer. She had gone far enough just knowing what Rindy told her. A few sounds came from the bedroom that sounded like encouragement, before both parents reappeared with the watercolor set.

“I’m sorry for intruding,” Harge said, mainly to Therese.

“I should have remembered to tell you. You know my brain and all that,” Carol replied. 

“People forget things, Carol. It’s okay.” He smiled at her, trying to encourage one from her. When she wouldn’t, he placed his hand on her shoulder, softly pressing it as if transferring strength. “Rindy and I will go ahead and head out. Rindy, honey, come on. Good to see you again, Therese.” He shook her hand again and Rindy gave her a hug. Both women watched father and child place the toys in the car and drive away. 

“I’m sorry if he embarrassed you,” Carol said. She waited for Therese to respond but the younger woman could only stare at her. “Maybe it’s best if we call it an afternoon. Between the awkwardness of my life and his unexpected visit, I think—”

“Rindy said you had a sickness in your chest that still hurts you sometimes.”

Carol froze, staring somewhere other than Therese. Her eyes closed, her breath ragged and uneven. “Did she?”

Therese bit back her tongue, cursing herself. Didn’t she _just decide_ that she wouldn’t pry? “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“No, you shouldn’t have! You think it’s polite, throwing around observations like that?” Carol snapped, then covered her face in immediate regret. 

Therese stepped back—why was she so stupid to think that Carol wouldn’t mind talking about something like that? “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“No, no. _I’m_ sorry. That was horrible of me.” Carol lowered her hands and wrapped her arms around her stomach like a shield. “It’s not a topic I enjoy speaking of. Forgive me?”

“Of course. It’s none of my business, anyway.” She waited for Carol to speak, but her friend kept her arms crossed and eyes closed. 

Instead of saying anything, Therese carefully crossed over to her and wrapped her arms around her. Carol gasped at the sudden contact, then lifted away her arms to embrace the younger woman. Therese breathed in Carol’s perfume, felt golden streams of hair against her face, and focused on Carol’s hands against her back. If only they could stay like this forever. Therese held her tighter as she felt Carol’s breath try to stay even.

“Say something. Anything,” Carol pleaded.

“I was a measurement of your time,” Therese replied. Her tongue loosened with the outpour of the pent-up thought that would not be interrupted this time. “You said that your greatest measurement of time was by whom your words inspired. Me. They inspired me, Carol. I was a measurement of your time!” 

Carol pulled away just enough to stare at her, her eyes wide and struggling through various emotions. Finally, her expression softened as she smiled at her former student. “Yes. You were. I know you were.” She smiled at the younger woman, then brought her hand up to stroke Therese’s cheek. “What a strange human you are,” Carol murmured.

“Why?”

“Flung out of space.”

Therese grinned as if it could stretch to the top of her head. “Then that must mean I’m doing something right.”

This sent Carol into another fit of laughter. Therese laughed with her, cherishing the high tone of Carol’s as it sounded like…well, exactly that. A carol with high, light notes that streamed into her ears and whistled their defiance of anything that would cease them. 

“I can see my influence on you,” Carol said, still chuckling. She almost let go, taking her hand off Therese’s back, but then replaced it again. Her head tilted curiously as she gazed through Therese, summer raincloud eyes meeting jade. Her expression turned conflicted, and a deep breath later, became resolved. “Therese. I know I can’t transfer any wisdom or even offer you advice that will magically fix everything for you. But for what it’s worth.”

Therese closed her eyes as she felt Carol’s face move closer until their lips brushed, so softly and quickly as if they had done it a thousand times before. Her breath hitched as she stared at the older woman’s eyes, finding once again the forgiveness and pride within them. 

Before she could utter any words, Carol released her at last and walked her toward the door. They said their goodbyes, and Therese drove home like an automated program. Carol had kissed her. _Carol had kissed her._ She was a measurement of Carol’s time. Was it possible to become two measurements: one of academia and another of a lifetime? She thought back to Carol’s five years, counting each one of them to see if—

It struck her. Another count off, extra attention to each word. The text message from Abby, the accidental confession through Harge, the list, the list, the last word.

Carol had listed six after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Sorry that took so long--I'm a bit of a perfectionist with their chapters. ;) Chapter eight will come when it can.


	8. In Which Carol and Therese Bring Closure to a Year of Their Lives

Richard was waiting for her when she arrived home. His jaw was clenched and his eyes dark as he stared her down. Therese took a deep breath, and tried to match his resolute gaze while stepping out of her car.

“My key is missing,” he said when she reached him. “Where is it, Terry?”

Therese simply looked back at him and said, “Come inside, Richard. We need to talk.”

For a moment—in the span of a blink—his eyes flashed with fear. But his face remained unchanged as he followed her up the stairs and entered the apartment behind her. While Therese set down her keys, Richard sat down on the sofa with one leg over the other, watching her. 

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice flat, but Therese knew him well enough to know he meant it.

“Thank you,” she replied, refusing his request for her to sit beside him. “I was with Carol today.” She wasn’t looking at him, but she heard his quick intake of breath, and the slow exhale. 

“Must have been a special event to go that far.”

“Actually, we just had brunch.”

Richard closed his eyes for a moment, maintaining a steady rhythm of breathing. “How come you don’t dress like that for me anymore?”

Therese could not answer, even though it burned on her tongue. She could tell him, here and now, and it would be the end of it. But the way he looked stopped her. He knew why she took the key, why she dressed herself up for Carol when it had been months since she did the same for him. And he was waiting for her to confirm it. But then how would he react? That was what she hesitant to find out.

“I got promoted to store manager,” Richard announced. “I thought we could celebrate it tonight. If I take it, I get transferred to Richmond. Would you like Richmond?”

Therese said nothing.

Richard kept staring at her, jaw going back and forth; Therese could almost hear his teeth grinding. “We can start again, you know. We started again, moving to Charlottesville.” The silence unnerved him. He waited for her to say something—anything—while she forced him closer to asking the real questions aloud. Another moment, another breath.

“ _What is it about her, Terry?_ ” he exploded. The force of it sent her back a step. “For chrissakes, she was your teacher! Are we really going to go through this again?”

“No. We’re not,” Therese replied, but before she could elaborate, Richard kept going, leaping from the couch to tower in front of her. 

“What is she to you? Am I really going to have to put up with more forgotten dates because she wants to spend time with you? Or every conversation turning back to her, about how ‘extraordinary’ she is? When was the last time you called me extraordinary? God, you know this was all cute at first with your schoolgirl crush, but have you considered that I still exist?”

“Richard, I—”

“What? Did you give the key to her?” 

“No! Would you calm down?”

Richard almost replied, but kept his mouth closed in a thin line as he covered his face with his hands. He breathed a few times. Therese waited. 

“What do you mean you still exist?” she asked him gently.

Richard inhaled. Exhaled. He uncovered his face and sighed, “Did you know that people thought you two were sleeping with each other, even those who knew we were together? And I had to hear that. It was you two, not you and me. It’s like I didn’t exist in your life anymore, but I was still there. I was there when you missed our anniversary dinner to go have a drink with Carol after the symposium. I was still here when she decided to replace the watch I gave you. I exist, Terry!”

“I know you exist.”

“No, you don’t! When Carol comes into the picture, you shove me out. I can’t deal with this again! All I want is for you to live with me, and be _my_ girlfriend, not Carol’s play-toy. You need me. You belong to me.”

Therese had almost approached him, lifting a hand to offer in comfort. Yet, his last sentence stopped her, and she stepped back. “Maybe I shove you out because you shove so hard to stay in mine,” Therese replied with more anger than she intended. “I don’t _belong_ to you, Richard. And I certainly don’t appreciate your attempts to disprove me.”

“Like what attempts?” he challenged.

Therese stared at him, then stormed into the kitchen to yank the calendar off the wall before thrusting it in his face as she pointed to various dates. “Workout training. Yoga. Lecture on healthy eating. Cooking classes? How about the scale in the bathroom? Or how you pitch a tantrum when I do things without you? Or, even better, how you’ve been trying to force me to live with you!”

“Because you’re my girlfriend!”

“Not anymore,” Therese replied. Richard’s eyes widened as he stared back at her, mouth hanging open in shock. Therese kept her gaze and voice even, despite the tears welling in her eyes. “Richard, I am tired of feeling like I’m suffocating with you. I am tired of never feeling good enough for you simply because I weigh 248 pounds. And I am so sick of feeling like everything I do is wrong and being pushed into more situations where I wonder if it will really make you happy. I’m tired of you.”

Richard continued to gape, amazed at her sudden backbone, though his brow had furrowed and his jaw set again. He may have been preparing to speak, but Therese wasn’t going to allow him. She was finally telling him what she had been wishing to say, and she would be goddamned before he took it away from her.

“I’m sorry that I neglected you so much before. Truly, I am. But you know what? You were right. I never believed you and you always laughed it off like a joke, but you were right: I was in love with her. And I still am. She sees me as a human being, whereas I may as well be a decoration on your arm. And I’m sorry about us—I mean it, I do. We were happy for a while, but….”

“But what?” Richard said, his voice low.

“But I love her.”

Richard stepped back, not surprised, but still pained. He closed his eyes, shaking his head a bit, before looking back at her as if to stare her down. “She doesn’t love you. I guarantee it.”

_Flung out of space._ Therese could still feel Carol’s lips against hers. 

“Yes, she does.”

Richard still stared, his eyes hardened and fists clenched by his sides. Therese watched him, still maintaining her steel countenance but occasionally glancing at his hands. He made no other movement, only spoke slowly, “She’s going to get tired of you. What happens if another student turns her head? You’re going to wish you still had me.”

His hands twitched and his body leaned forward as his words started to leave through gritted teeth. Ordinarily, Therese would have been frightened. He had never reached the point of violence before, but he could make a convincing threat to show he could. But now, after what he had said, there was no fear anymore. He wouldn’t, and she knew it. 

“No, Richard. I won’t.”

His eyes blinked. He searched her eyes, desperation filling his, and what he found struck him as if she had slapped him. “So that’s it,” he whispered. “It’s her at last, and not me.” 

Therese said nothing. Instead, she turned the knob to the front door and opened it for him. He didn’t move at first, still hoping for a reconsideration. The door remained open. Finally, he walked forward, wordlessly and slowly, until he disappeared down the stairs and away from Therese.

Therese closed the door and slid down to the floor. Tears streamed down her face as her eyes grew heavy with exhaustion. It was over. No more brutal reminders about how fat she was, no more fights over her not being here when Richard wanted to be, and no more pizza. She had finally stood up, spoke up, and ended it. 

She listened to the silence thicken around her, welcoming it. This is how every night would sound without him, and she would fill the silence with different sounds with Carol. A smile spread as she thought of this, and a contented sigh escaped, so soft it barely disturbed the quiet.

 

**************

 

“But that’s all I going to say about my date and leave the rest to your imagination. What I want to know is how did your brunch go with a certain—did I remember the last name correctly—Therese Belivet?”

Carol eyed Abby from across the table. Abby smirked back, eyebrows lifting once in a flirtatious challenge. 

“It went well.”

Abby waited for more, and received silence. “That’s all I get? After I’ve told you all about my date?” 

“Not much to tell: we talked, walked, ate, and…that was it.” 

“No, that wasn’t it. Come on, tell me what happened. What did she say? What did you two _do_?

“I just told you.” Carol looked at Abby to find her leaning comically over her plate, eyes wide like a cartoon. “You’re getting spaghetti sauce on your shirt.” Abby moved the slightest inch up, but retained the posture. “All right! I told her about Cassandra, you and me, and Harge interrupted us, and Rindy told her about the…chest sickness.”

Abby’s comic façade melted as she leaned back in her chair, disappointed and worried. “Oh, honey. You had to tell her all of that sometime anyway, right?”

“Yes, but it’s too soon! The brunch was a way for me to get to know her better, not reveal every delicate part of my life.”

“Well…how did she handle it?”

Carol paused to remember. _Carol, I’m so sorry. No, it doesn’t bother me. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it…_ “I think she handled it well.”

“That’s great! At least then the brunch wasn’t a disaster. And if you go further, you’ve gotten all of that out of the way.”

“Hm,” was all Carol said in response. 

Abby stared at her, trying to figure out Carol’s mood. Sighing, she stood up and walked over to kneel beside Carol, who wouldn’t return her gaze and instead stared blankly at her dinner. “You don’t want to continue with her?”

Carol’s mouth worked alongside her thoughts as she struggled to translate one into the other. “I do. But—it’s just…”

“What, baby?”

Carol covered her eyes with the back of her hand. “My one marriage ended in divorce. Cassandra died. What if…something happens to Therese? What if it ends terribly?”

Abby lowered her head to conceal the small chuckle. “Baby, that’s the chance you take with any relationship.”

“I know, but can I handle—”

“Carol, look at me.” Abby cradled the side of Carol’s face in her hand as she turned it until Carol’s eyes met her own. “You and Harge didn’t end badly; you simply realized you were better as friends than lovers. Cassandra died from something unexpected that wasn’t your fault. And you and me, we’re still a thing if you remember. We don’t have an end. So maybe, the universe will score for even, and you and Therese...” She let her warm smile finish her sentence, and Carol replied with her own in return. “But sweetie,” Abby continued, “Cassandra can’t hold you back anymore. I know you miss her. But if her death prevents you from finding happiness with others, then…”

“I know,” Carol said, squeezing Abby’s hand to keep her from finishing. She wiped her tear-stained eyes and cheeks. “You’re right.” She chuckled. “She always said you were.”

“And you never believed her,” Abby teased. She lifted up to seat herself in Carol’s lap, and ran her fingers through her lover’s hair. Neither spoke for a bit, Carol enjoying Abby’s fingers on her head and Abby enjoying the simple sight of the smile adorning Carol’s face. 

“Now,” Abby said at last. “I know good things happened on Sunday. Spill.” 

Carol laughed and indulged her lover with the conversations from the walk with Therese and after Harge’s interruption. The smile on Abby’s face continued to grow with each new detail. When Carol mentioned Therese’s confession and the kiss, Abby laughed in triumph.

“She said she was a measurement of my time,” Carol murmured, her eyes alight with joy as she replayed the exact words. “It sounded so—breathtaking—the way she said it. And I told her I knew.”

Abby stroked Carol’s cheek, then leaned their foreheads together. “I’m happy for you,” she whispered, placing a kiss against Carol’s hairline. A thought crossed her mind, and it caused the smile to fade a bit as she asked quietly, “Can you trust her?”

Carol looked up at her, uncertainty clear in her eyes. She pondered the question, only to come back to the same conclusion that she didn’t know Therese well enough yet to know for sure. “I would like to think that I can,” was all she could respond.

Abby’s eyes became downcast. “I hope that you can, Carol. I really, truly hope that you can. And if so, that this relationship makes you happy again.”

The smile returned to her face as Abby tapped Carol’s nose with her own. Carol returned the gesture before settling her head against Abby’s shoulder—only to lift back up and remark, “You still have sauce on your shirt.” Abby laughed and lifted her shirt above her head. 

“You staying the night?” Carol asked, aroused by the sight. 

“I can’t. I have to catch up on some work, which means it will be a long night in front of machines and books that test my ability to stay awake.” Carol pouted as she wrapped her arms around Abby’s waist. “But I’ll be back tomorrow. And besides, I don’t necessarily have to go right _now_.”

Neither said anything further as their mouths collided.

 

Carol turned to her side, already missing Abby, who was missing from her bed as Abby had left quite a number of heartbeats ago. Since then, her thoughts had shifted between her brunch with Therese and what Abby had said about Cassandra. She sat up, rubbing her face in frustration. Abby was right, of course; Carol certainly would not dare deny it. 

She covered her face with her hands, wishing Abby were still here to curl up against so that she could forget everything she said. Or Therese. She peeked over to the empty side of the bed, and imagined Therese filling it, looking up at her with admiration and playfulness lighting up her jade eyes. But to do that….

Inhale. Exhale. Human. The lyric was becoming her favorite. Another deep breath. She closed her eyes, opened them, and stood up to head for the closet. 

Without thinking, she recited the first seven lines of _The Aeneid_ , the Latin rolling off her tongue like an incantation—Cassandra’s favorite verse. After thousands of heartbeats, strained breaths, and fading memories, she could still chant the words perfectly to the meter by heart. Every Classics student must memorize them, Cassandra had taught. One of the best works, best openings of the Roman world, and no one is a true student of Latin without the ability to recite. Whether that was true or not, Carol determinedly obeyed. Some students learned through flashcards, others by constant recitation, and Carol had learned to the beat of Cassandra’s hand. 

She smiled at how proud Cassandra would have been as she opened the safe pulled from the back of the closet. On the top shelf were the customary things like social security card and birth certificate, along with a death certificate of someone long gone and still mourned. Another death certificate lay on the bottom shelf, covering a small, framed photograph. Carol almost touched it, but instead went beneath it to where several envelopes, each signed with Καρολ, and a large program were stored. She opened the letters of the envelopes one by one, reading the flow of Latin and English interspersed with Ancient Greek. One contained just a poem by Catullus: _vivamus mea Lesbia, atque amemus_. They were always signed the same: Κασσάνδρη. A fingertip ran over the words to try to feel the shadow of the hand that wrote them. 

With a sigh, she exchanged the letters, placed delicately back in their envelopes, for the death certificate, reading over each official word. She quickly put it back; there was no tenderness in it, only the legal statement that yes, Cassandra Sparrow was deceased. Her hand paused before the safe, taking a moment before reaching for the last relic of her existence. 

“ _lugete, o Veneres Cupidnesque_  
_et quantest hominem uenustiorum_  
_passer mortuus est meae puellae,_  
_passer deliciae meae puellae_  
_quem plus illoculis suis amabat._ ”

The words were soft, as if anything more than a whisper would damage the picture in her hand and obliterate the smiling woman. Carol stared at her: the brown plastic frames of glasses over hazel eyes, Roman nose, the curly bubblegum hair brought about by a lost bet, the long lean face with a mouth wide in a laugh as it flashed her crooked teeth. Carol could not remember the joke or the challenge Cassandra lost (perhaps the loss itself had been the joke), but she could remember how the laugh sounded. It had been a throaty, loud kind of cackle, interspersed with snorts that made everyone laugh harder. Even now with the memory, Carol chuckled, wishing she could hear it one more time. 

“I miss you, baby,” she breathed. “But I can’t…. Abby’s right. You always said she was…. Goddammit, Cassie, I’m so sorry.”

The last moment Carol had seen her alive was five hours before when she gave Cassandra a ride to the campus. She walked with Cassandra to her office, finishing their coffees as they planned their next date, deciding neither could wait until then, and so Cassandra locked the door and closed the blinds before Carol slipped her hand between her legs, and their bodies rocked rhythmically against the desk. When they finished, they embraced for twenty heartbeats until Carol whispered, “Te amo,” and Cassandra said the same. They parted, and five hours later, Carol watched the stretcher enter the ambulance, a sheet covering Cassandra’s body as pink streams of hair spilled out beneath the white sheet. Too much excitement for her heart, it was supposed.

She gently placed the picture back in the safe to rub her watery eyes. “I miss you. I miss you,” she continued to whisper. “I’m so sorry. But Abby’s right.” She brought it out one more time, stared at her beloved _passer_ and kissed the tip of her finger before touching Cassandra’s mouth. As if laying a bride on a bier, she returned the picture to the safe, on top of the service program and the love letters. 

“ _vale, mi passer._ ” 

She closed the safe, the click of the lock the only sound of life in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Carol recites is "Catullus 5."
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading and for your comments! I truly appreciate the kind words you've shared, and your patience between chapters. I love you all. <3
> 
> Chapter 9 will come when it can. I know I've been taking a long time between chapters, so I just want to share this so that you understand why that is: for the past two months, I've been dealing with a death in my family which has heavily impacted me emotionally, and that on top of having a full-time job and other responsibilities--there are days writing is just not possible. And on the days where I can, half of that time is spent obsessing over details or the direction of the scene because like I said before, I'm a bit of a perfectionist with these chapters. I love this story and I enjoy writing it, especially when you all share how much you love it too, so I can't guarantee swift updates, just that there will still be updates. Thank you for your understanding and for continuing to read this story. Again, I love you all. <3


	9. In Which Carol and Therese Begin the Next Year of Their Lives Together

The clock by the television read five to twelve. The watch, left on the dining table, read a quarter to four. Therese ignored both, allowing the amount of sunlight outside the open window of her living room to be her indicator of time, as she spent the afternoon reclining on the couch with _What We Imagine We’ve Lost_. She turned a page, smiling at the shouting children playing outside, and the wind rustling the leaves. Even with the sweat dampening the edges of her hair and the occasional bug creeping into her home, it felt like a long-overdue, perfect day off. 

She grabbed a handful of chocolate chips from the bowl on the floor. Hours after her breakup with Richard, Therese had indulged herself with a shopping trip for junk food and a new calendar. It had been a splurge, but worth it, as she would not feel scorn for shoving her face with cookies anymore, and could look at the date without the shame of another workout class. She had contemplated tossing out the weight scale, bought exclusively for Richard to body shame her, yet for some reason she couldn’t explain, she allowed it to remain in the bathroom for now. 

In between Charlotte’s poems, Therese’s mind wandered to imagine Carol with her on the couch. Carol would sit on the opposite side, a book on her lap, and her legs entangled with Therese’s so that every now and then, one would caress or tickle the other’s feet, resulting in playful kicking and tickle-fights. Perhaps Carol would lean forward, pinning Therese to the couch, challenging her to escape, and when it was clear Therese could not, Carol would boast her triumph, then lean down until their lips connected. What followed afterward in Therese’s mind made her smile mischievously, as well as a certain wetness grow between her legs.

Her phone buzzed between the cushions, ripping her from her daydreams. Instinctually, she thought it was Richard. He had texted for a few days after their break-up, wanting to talk and make up. She ignored him each time until he finally took the hint. So, unless he was making a last, desperate attempt, it would not be him. A glance at the screen made her skip a heartbeat: Carol.

_Hey, Therese. I’m in town today. If you’re off, care to meet for dinner?_

Therese sat up, her fingers flying across the keyboard. _Sounds great! Any particular place?_

_No. I would let you decide. :)_

Therese mentally listed off every restaurant she knew. What did Carol like? Coffee. Carol loved coffee. _I know where to go. I just need to look up the address._

 

Therese watched Carol admire the blue walls, rustic shelves and tables, the string lights across the ceiling, and the scent of coffee beans permeating through the café; the same café she had found after Carol’s visit to the store. She was pleased that Carol seemed so fascinated by it, enough to close her eyes, breathe deeply, open them again to look-- _really_ look—and listen to the ambience of customers and espresso machines. Somewhere a clink of two mugs in a toast echoed, catching the professor’s attention. Therese was surprised that Carol had not yet produced pen and paper to record it all. 

Even more so, she was mildly shocked at Carol’s low-key outfit: brown slacks with a blue button-up and black boots. The one accessory that kept true to Carol’s disdain for color coordination was her orange watch, stopped, of course, at five to twelve. 

“Life is too short for color coordination,” Therese recited, making her assessment of Carol’s attire obvious.

“Life is too short for a lot of things,” Carol replied with a sly smile and a flash of her watch, before resuming her observation of the café. “I love this place. Why did you choose it?”

Therese smiled. “Because it reminded me of you.”

Carol turned her full attention to the younger woman. A smile tugged at her lips while her eyes searched Therese’s. “Is that so? I suppose nothing screams my name quite like charming and Bohemian.”

“Especially with coffee.”

Carol grinned and lifted her mug in mock salute before taking a sip, still keeping her eyes on Therese. Therese heard her inhale as if to speak, but then Carol sipped her coffee again, and paused for a moment.

“I’m still sorry about Sunday,” she finally said, setting the mug back down.

“Which part?” Therese asked, tensing up. Was Carol sorry about the kiss? 

“For snapping at you. Harge’s intrusion. Anything about my life that may have made you feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m not bothered by Harge or your life,” Therese replied, relaxing slightly. “Really. Harge was pleasant and it was nice seeing Rindy again. And there’s nothing you said about your life that made me feel uncomfortable.”

Carol seemed to look at with a question—challenge?—but whatever it was, she must have chosen not to voice it. Instead, she asked, “Has anything exciting happened at the store?” There was laughter behind her words. 

“Without you playing that silly game, no.” Therese paused, wondering the importance and appropriateness of her next thought, and said it anyway, “I broke up with Richard.”

Carol straightened up as if caught off-guard. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. I’m happy about it.” She could already tell what Carol was going to ask, and added quickly, “I couldn’t stand his expectations anymore. Or his pettiness. To be honest, we should have been over for a while.” 

There was silence at first as Therese watched Carol take in the news. When she spoke, her words were slow, almost calculated: “Well. Then I am glad you are out of something that made you unhappy. What will you do now?”

Therese inhaled deeply, a grin starting to stretch. As the words formed in her head, a waiter approached with their meals and Carol’s attention diverted itself to her sandwich. Therese looked at hers, for once grateful for the distraction as it gave her an extra moment to phrase her words properly, say what she needed all at once.

“I don’t know about you,” Carol spoke between bites. “But after this, a certain piece of chocolate cake over there is calling my name and I’m sure if I look at it, I’ll even see ‘Carol’ written on it.”

The two laughed and ate in comfortable silence. When Therese felt confident in her choice of words, she began, “Carol? Why did you kiss me?” 

Carol slowed down mid-bite, then rapidly swallowed and collected herself before responding, “I thought maybe, though it seemed unlikely, that I would try imparting some wisdom to you. Whether I did or not, you’d have to tell me.”

“You certainly shared something. Was that the only reason?”

This time, Carol did not respond. Instead, she set her sandwich down and rested her chin on her fingers, eyes staring straight at Therese, who stared back unafraid. “What do you think about me, Therese?”

Therese almost laughed at the question, thinking the answer was obvious. Still, without missing a beat, she replied, “I think you’re the most magnificent, fascinating person I’ve ever met.”

Carol cocked an eyebrow. “And realistically?”

“Well—I—that was—”

“No, it wasn’t,” Carol cut her off. Therese slumped a bit, dejected, but then felt Carol’s hand rest on hers, followed by a squeeze of reassurance. “I appreciate it, don’t get me wrong. But you haven’t seen enough of my worst traits yet. I’m glad you admire me, Therese, but please remember one thing: even I am a flawed human being.”

“I know.” 

“Not yet, you don’t. But you might.”

“What do you mean?” Therese felt her heart pound against her chest with excitement.

Carol said nothing. Therese waited. After a moment or two, Carol suggested, “Let’s go somewhere else. Somewhere it can just be the two of us.” 

“Is something wrong?”

“Besides the stares I’m starting to get, compliments of my celebrity look-alike, no. I just want the enjoyment of your company alone.”

Therese tried to keep her voice level and calm. “Well, I’ve seen your place, so maybe you could visit mine. It’s not too far from here.”

“I’d like that,” Carol said, the smile now stretched across her face. “After I grab that cake, though.” 

Carol sighed, braving the crowd, as Therese stared at her food, excitement and nervousness removing what was left of her appetite. 

 

The apartment was a cluttered mess, and Therese, the minute she turned on the light and found discarded clothes strewn across the floor and food wrappers littering almost every flat surface, regretted asking Carol to come here. Too late now, as Carol was behind her. Therese stood aside, allowing Carol to answer first, and blurted, “I’m sorry about the mess, I—”

The look from Carol cut her off. “You still apologize too much.”

Therese chose not to respond to that. Instead, she asked, “Can I get you anything? Water? Beer? Milk?”

Carol, with an amused smile, declined anything. Instead, she meandered into the living room to study the décor. Therese observed her as Carol passed the dark brown couch with blue throw pillows, and gasped in admiration at the light blue curtains with brown tree designs halfway up, and lightly fingering the fabric. She clucked once in disdain for the walls.

“A shame apartments never allow painting,” Carol lamented.

Therese nodded in agreement. “If I could, I’d paint them light blue, the same color as the pillows. Makes a perfect contrast to the couch, don’t you think?”

“Sounds like someone is going for color coordination,” Carol teased. “But in seriousness, I think that’s a wonderful choice, though light blue is rather vague.” 

“What color would you choose?”

Carol glanced over the walls and grabbed one of the throw pillows to study the color. “If you want the walls to match these, you would need azure, which would go perfectly with your rug since the squares are close to azure. And for extra effect, maybe chocolate brown as a focus wall with the curtains over here, but I would also add an azure armchair with—what shade is your couch? I’d say the definition of brown—pillows to contrast with the couch’s wall. Cherry hardwood floors, not this atrocious cream carpet. As for general décor, I’d—”

She glanced at Therese, and noticed her gaze of amusement. “I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

“If I had a house, I would definitely hire you to decorate it,” Therese replied. “Where did you learn interior design?”

Carol laughed. “Chromophilia and too much HGTV. Learn the rules before you break them like me.”

This time, they both laughed as Carol continued her meandering around the room. She stopped by the bookcase to notice the selections of books, and then the picture on the highest shelf. In it, Therese, possibly a teenager, was kneeling down while a child had climbed onto her back and held her as she would lift him up. Both grinned at the camera, the child’s front tooth missing and Therese’s hair almost covering the left side of her face. Carol picked it up carefully. 

“Is this Danny?”

Therese nodded, with a nostalgic smile of her own. “We were fifteen and seven then. I had just started liking the bugger.”

A curious glance from Carol asked her to explain. When Therese didn’t, Carol set the picture back down and peeked at the rest of the apartment. “How is it you live alone, Therese?”

The answer came in six short sentences. Nothing too detailed or drawn out. Her father died and her mother remarried. They had Danny, whom they loved more. Therese believed her mother never liked her because she resembled her father. So when it came time for college, she chose Hollins because it was far away. There she met Richard, who wanted her to live with him. She broke up with him a few days ago because she wanted to keep her independence. All spoken with a flat, bored tone as if it were a recitation from a history book. 

“What could be duller than past history?” Therese laughed.

“Maybe futures that won’t have any history,” Carol replied, her tone serious, almost melancholy. “If you don’t mind my asking, what did your father die from?”

“Pneumonia. Mom found him on the couch one night and he had drowned from the fluid in his lungs. I was six then.”

A familiar sting crept into her chest. It had been seventeen years ago, yet Therese could still remember waking up to sirens outside the house, and running down to find her mother waiting by the door in the flashing red and blue lights, arms crossed and back turned to the living room, as if it would disappear behind her if she ignored it long enough. There on the couch had been her father, laid out on his back with his head tilted to the side and one arm over his torso while the other touched the floor; Therese thought he had been sleeping. 

“Daddy, what’s going on?” she asked as she shook him. He didn’t stir, so she shook him again, harder. Her mother almost looked back, turning her head to acknowledge the scene, but before her eyes could meet her daughter’s, she turned back to the door as the paramedics finally entered the home. They made Therese stand back as they examined her father, asking the mother to remove the child from the room. Her mother had just kept standing, watching the scene with complete detachment. Therese had heard the word, “shock” passed around between the strangers, unsure whether they spoke of her or her father. 

After shocks and examinations, pleads from Therese to stop hurting him, then to help him, and shouts to the mother and others to please get the child out of here—

“I’m so sorry. He’s gone.”

What terrified Therese most of all that night was the following silence, everyone’s breath hitched, movements frozen as heads turned to the family. Her mother, still staring, still not responding, arms crossed and eyes on the dead man on the couch. Time slowed, so that the weight of the words crept in to fill the silence. Dead. Sorry. No more painting. No more laughter. Gone.

Therese’s legs forced her into a bolt up the stairs, finally breaking that hellish silence with her feet banging on the hardwood, and screams ripping through her throat to make sound—any sound—to take away that moment, to force the universe in reverse, and bring her father back. When the paramedics had left with her father, and the sirens and lights disappeared back into the night, Therese listened to the sound of her mother slowly ascend the staircase, like that chained ghost in one of her father’s favorite Christmas stories. Therese expected her mother to open the door, stand before her like a haunted ghoul, or better, sit by her side and tell her that everything would be alright again. 

The footsteps paused in front of her door, but instead of the knob turning, or even a whispered, “Therese?” the only following sound was the footsteps continuing past until a distant door closed, and the silence pounded once again in Therese’s ears, just as it would for the following seventeen years.

But of course, Therese told Carol none of this. Instead, she stood quietly, noticing the odd—what was it? admiration? respect?—in Carol’s countenance. As if she had suddenly risen in some esteem in Carol’s eyes. 

“What?” Therese finally asked.

“Nothing,” Carol said quickly, and looked away in embarrassment. “I’m sorry to hear about your father. Is your mother still around?”

Therese almost considered saying no. “Yes, but I haven’t spoken to her in two years. We’re…not that close.” 

Again, she watched something flash in Carol’s eyes. Before Therese could question it, Carol asked, “And Danny?”

Therese sighed and hung her head. “I wish I could say otherwise, but to get to him, I have to get through Mom. So, I haven’t spoken to him, either.”

“Shame,” Carol replied. “You make him sound like a delightful young man.” She turned fully to Therese, and Therese felt like she were being measured in some way. It unsettled her, but Carol soon looked away again, toward the floor. 

“Do you ever feel lonely, Therese? Living alone? Losing a parent?”

Therese waited for Carol to look at her again, but Carol’s face remained lowered. Instead of answering the question, Therese gave her own: “Who did you lose?”

It took a while for Carol to answer. She sighed, closed her eyes, opened her mouth, then closed it again. Open. Close. Sighed again. Eventually: “My mother. Age eight.”

Therese’s hand rested on Carol’s shoulder. Carol smiled weakly and placed her hand over Therese’s in appreciation of the comfort. “It has to be lonely, walking forests without someone beside you and guide you, doesn’t it?” She at last brought her eyes up to meet Therese’s. “Is that why you’re lost? Because you feel alone?”

“All the time,” Therese responded.

“All?”

“Most of the time,” Therese corrected. “Even when I’m with friends, or in public, and crowds are the loneliest of all.” Carol looked back up at her, eyes continuing to search hers. Therese swallowed, gathering up all her courage to conclude, “Except when I’m with you.”

Another flash passed Carol’s eyes. Whatever she might have been seeking, she must have found, and her hands cupped Therese’s face.

“If I asked,” Carol whispered, “would you allow me to walk beside you in your forest, and you walk beside me in mine?”

Therese’s knees almost buckled beneath her and a gasp emitted from her throat. “Yes,” she replied. “Yes, I would.”

Without another word, their lips met. It wasn’t rushed like their first, but lingering, held still as if both were engraving this moment into their memories. Slowly, their mouths moved in unison, and Therese felt Carol’s tongue slip into her mouth. Therese could still taste the basil pesto and pastrami from Carol’s dinner, and almost laughed with amusement. She inhaled the floral scent of Carol’s perfume, and tried to memorize the way Carol’s hair felt between her fingers. 

She wasn’t sure which one moved the other to the couch. Perhaps it had been her, tugging on Carol’s shirt while stepping back, or Carol, catching Therese when she almost lost her balance. Either way, Therese soon found herself laid out on the sofa with Carol stretched above her, mouth to Therese’s neck. She listened to Carol’s ragged breathing, felt her move down to place kisses along the younger woman’s shoulders. When Therese opened her eyes briefly to see her, she saw Carol’s brow knotted as if angry or starved, and finally able to release it. 

Therese felt a warmth between her legs as she remembered her daydreams from earlier. Her breath caught as she realized this was how she pictured them, with Carol on top of her as they kissed and possibly other delicious things. She imagined a full release of Carol’s need: possibly involving scratching, biting, and marks that she could view tomorrow with shock and triumph. Her hand slid down to Carol’s waist, pressing softly with her fingers before gliding them between Carol’s legs. 

To her surprise, Carol gently grabbed her hand and brought it up to her neck. Therese grasped at the blond strands while arching her back, delighted in the feel of Carol’s torso pressing forward. Though something felt off about it, as if missing. Once again, Therese glided her hand downward, stopping this time at Carol’s chest, and flattened her palm. Yet as she tried to register what she felt, Carol again moved the younger woman’s hand away and this time held it with her own. Therese remained undeterred and in a final, bold attempt, slipped her free hand toward the neckline of Carol’s blouse and wrapped her fingers around the top button. 

“Whoa! Whoa, whoa,” Carol gasped, drawing back. “Stop.”

“What’s wrong?” Therese asked, quickly drawing her hands back and holding them open-palmed by her head. 

“I’m not ready for that.” Carol sat up, running her fingers through her mussed hair and straightening her blouse. Had Carol not spoken those five words, Therese would have laughed at the smeared lipstick stains around the older woman’s swollen lips, and the failing attempts to smooth down her disheveled blonde head. 

Instead, Therese sunk into the couch with shame. “Oh…. I’m sorry,” she muttered, unable to look at the other woman. She felt Carol’s hands cup her face again, and turn her head until their eyes met. 

“I like this, what we’re doing,” Carol explained, with a smile to alleviate Therese’s embarrassment. “I hadn’t exactly planned to go this far, but far be it from me to say it wasn’t exciting.” Therese chuckled in response, encouraging Carol to continue. “I just—need to go a bit more slowly. I like to have time between the start of a relationship and consummating it.”

“Oh. Okay,” Therese replied, confused, yet glowing from Carol’s particular word choice. 

Carol stood up and searched for the bathroom. Therese heard her laugh from the sight of her reflection, and considered whether she too should check a mirror. No doubt she was in a similar state of disarray. When the older woman returned, her hair straight again and face clear, she came back to Therese, trying to hide another laugh at the sight. She casually tapped Therese’s foot with her own as she asked, “When’s the next day you’re off?”

“Saturday.”

“Come and see me if you want. I’ll pay for the gas. And it’ll give us a chance to talk about things.”

“Like what?” At this, Therese looked up at her, hopeful.

“About how to traverse in each other’s forests.”

Therese waited for her to explain, but Carol simply smiled and leaned down to kiss her again. When they parted, Therese blurted out, “So, just so we’re clear: does this mean we’re official?”

Carol grinned, closed her eyes, and shook her head as if she were dealing with a child. “Come and see me Saturday,” was all she said.

“Okay.”

Carol smiled at her again, then outstretched her hand; had she offered, Therese would have followed her into Hell. She took the hand, stood up, and walked Carol to the door. Exchange of goodbyes. Another slow, lingering kiss. And Carol left.

Every single nerve in Therese’s body sang, making her tremble with excitement. Even though she wasn’t having sex, even though she wasn’t sure if she and Carol were together or not, they had kissed again and again. She and Carol had a possible future, and for now, Therese could accept just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Chapter 10 will come when it can between life-happenings and other things. Things have been getting tough, but I won't let grief and fear hinder me. :)
> 
> Also, may I just hug you all? Thank you so much for your support in the comments of the last chapter. Words cannot express how deeply moved I am by how much you all love this story, and embrace how I've chosen to re-create the characters and their relationship. I am in love with this story (even though I'm slow af updating), and it always makes me so happy that you all read it, re-read it, and tell me how much you love it, too. I love you all so much. <3


	10. In Which Carol and Therese Discuss Their Relationship

As decided, Therese parked in Carol’s driveway at around eleven o’clock Saturday morning. Her stomach rumbled with dissatisfaction from her light breakfast of buttered toast, though that alone was difficult to swallow; anything more and she was sure she would have hurled it all up from her anxiety. She checked her makeup one more time in the visor mirror, then inhaled. Exhaled. She stepped out of her car and made her way to Carol’s door, keeping her pace casual in case Carol was watching. 

When Therese knocked, it was timid sound, almost unheard. Maybe Carol had not heard it, so she tried again, louder this time. Carol did not appear. Perhaps she was in the bathroom or finishing getting dressed, Therese thought, so she waited a minute or two. Carol’s car was in the drive, so she had to be home. Therese called her name. Nothing. Again. Nothing.

“Fuck,” Therese muttered. Why wasn’t Carol coming to the door? Perhaps she was outside and wasn’t able to hear her. Therese looked to her right, then left, searching the yard, yet no sign of Carol. She knocked again; no answer. Another curse. She stepped back as she began to close the screen door, when her eye caught a certain reflection.

Carol stood behind her, leaning over the porch rail with her chin resting on her fingers, and her eyes watching Therese with amusement. “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

Therese blushed. “Good morning to you, too. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Now what fun would that be?” With languid grace, Carol stepped down from the edge of the porch and sauntered to the steps. “One thing you’ll quickly learn about me is that I love to tease.” She started to step up, when she looked back to the woods. “Care for a walk? It’s hot, but the sunlight still illuminates the woods at this hour.”

“Sure,” Therese replied, and strolled with Carol into the forest. Like their last walk, it was a while before either initiated conversation, trading idle chitchat for contentment in simple presences. 

“Your forest today?” Carol asked at last.

“Getting clearer. A false path has finally faded and a better one is showing,” Therese replied.

Carol smiled with mischief. “I can’t possibly think why that may be.”

Therese side-eyed her, and the older woman laughed. “You said you wanted to talk about that. About how to traverse—”

“Not yet. Today, certainly, but I’m in the mood for a game right now.”

“Oh?” Therese asked, curious. “What sort of game?”

Carol thought for a moment. “Two lies and a truth. Sets of three; three truths and six lies. We pick out the three truths and weave a narrative about the other. What do you think?”

It sounded too mental for Therese’s taste. She much preferred Carol choosing Hide-and-Seek or even Tag, though Therese detested running. She would have even settled for I Spy or Truth-or-Dare. But it occurred to her that this could be a writing exercise, and suddenly Therese became excited for a private class with Carol. So, to please the professor and satisfy her own enthusiasm, she agreed.

“You first,” Carol instructed. “And don’t tell me if I’m right or wrong until the end.”

“Um…Okay, first set: I hate swings, the last book I read was _Watership Down_ , and my favorite food is sushi. Let’s see, second set—”

“Try not to be so basic,” Carol interrupted. “Remember, this is for a narrative.”

It took Therese a while before she continued. “I have lucid dreams about my father, my first dog was a Labrador who got run over, and I ran away from home once but came back because of Dannie.

“Third set: I recently joined an online church to help me find my sense of self, I would rather suffer more Moody food at Hollins than cook my own meals, and I think my mom blames me for Dad’s death.”

She looked at Carol, and was pleased for find a satisfied expression as Carol worked through the sets and formed her story.

“The last book you read was _Watership Down_ because like the rabbits, you seek your own home of sanctuary, but of course you face obstacles both before and after you find it. Perhaps your sanctuary is wherever you can find your father, hence your dreams when you can lucidly summon him, yet an obstacle you face could be an instilled guilt from your mother, as if you were to blame. You may have even run away, but Dannie didn’t bring you back—your guilt did. You felt obligated by that guilt to return and stay with your mother. After all, what makes guilt worse than running away from it?”

She turned to Therese, who now stared back in awe and a hint of amusement. “So?” Carol said, her voice laden with confidence and smugness. “Do I know you better than you know yourself or what?”

Therese blinked, then threw her head back with raucous laughter. “You got them all wrong!” she managed to shout before doubling over from the pain in her lungs. Yet she couldn’t stop laughing, especially when she looked up for find Carol’s deflated countenance.

“Not a single one?” Carol asked.

Therese shook her head, her giggles finally subsiding, though her lungs still felt inflamed. “Not one. Shall I tell you the truths?”

Carol bit her lip, thinking. She clearly preferred her own narrative, but her expression was lifting into one of being impressed that she somehow lost the game. “I’ll admit, I’m torn. On the one hand, I like to keep the mystery about you, but on the other…I am most curious what the truths were.” She was quiet for a moment, then finished, “But no, I would prefer not to know.”

Carol tilted her head, her eyes gazing Therese up and down to re-analyze her. Therese couldn’t help but feel like a puzzle that Carol had meticulously assembled into an organized design—the box tossed away from careless confidence—and only now realized her picture didn’t match her memory of the box, so she struggled to see where she went wrong, and whether she preferred her own after all. After an extensive reassessment, Therese watched the ghosts of Carol’s hands move again, handling her piece by piece to try again until she would either match the puzzle box, or create something more brilliant and kaleidoscopic, it would outshine the former. 

When it became clear that neither of them would voice her thoughts, Therese said simply, “Your turn.”

A nod and a knowing smile answered her as Carol began to ponder her sets. She stopped once or twice, gazing upward at the trees with a thoughtful, “Hmmm.” Therese couldn’t tell if she was thinking or stalling, only that Carol’s delay started to annoy her. It was her game after all, and it seemed unfair if she wasn’t going to play it seriously.

Carol then paused again, and looked straight at Therese with an assessing gaze. At last, she offered her sets.

“First: I despise the color black, my safe word is zaffre because why be so simple as red, and my love for colors stems from memories of childhood when my mother and I would try to accurately label each shade of color in the living room. Second set—”

“Wait!” Therese stopped her. “Let me remember what all you said. I don’t have your memory.”

Carol waited patiently, repeating bits of her set until Therese was certain she had the truth.

“Second set,” Carol continued, slower this time. “my one regret in life is that I couldn’t watch my mother die and let her know I was still there for her, I despise my father, and I have issues trusting others because I never know until the relationship is established whether they truly will be fine sharing me with Abby.

“Third: I became a creative writing professor because I was better with words than with painting, my love for colors is actually a well-constructed mask to help me cope with a long traumatic history, and I love you primarily because you indulge my chromophilia.”

Therese was silent for quite some time. Finally, when she was sure she knew the answers, she replied, “You were close to your mother. You shared traditions like identifying each shade of color during Christmas, which inspired your love for colors. Because of your love for her and the memories you shared with her, you wished you could have shared the memory of when she died. You said you were eight, so nobody might have let you see her, but you regret it anyway. And since then, you’ve wanted to someone to help revive those traditions, so enter me: a painter who makes you something pretty and tells you all about the colors of the sunset as well as this and that. And soon, you’ve found someone who can appreciate colors with you almost as much—emphasis on almost, I prefer to be color-coordinated. So you love me because I can bring back a piece of childhood that you lost.” She smiled with pride at Carol. “So then, how did I do?”

Carol looked at her for a moment, clearly impressed. “And you thought you didn’t have enough skill to write,” she said, before smirking back and adding, “But alas, your answers were all wrong.”

Therese’s smile faded. “All?”

“All.”

“Huh,” was all Therese responded. “I guess we’re even, then.” 

Carol stopped walking and stared at her, eyes searching for who-knew-what. When Therese felt sure that Carol found it, Carol replied, “Or that maybe we should get to know each other a bit better while we begin.”

“Begin what?” Therese asked, a sly smile showing.

Instead of a direct answer, Carol’s reply was, “Let’s go back to the house and we’ll talk about it.”

“Wait! What about the correct answers? Will you tell me?”

The only answer Therese received was a smirk, and a firm, “No,” before Carol power-walked toward her back door, with Therese struggling to keep up behind her. 

“Will you tell me what the point of the game was instead?” 

“Learning about each other!” Carol called back in reply. This answer did not satisfy Therese, but instead of forcing a proper answer from Carol, she merely grumbled at both the game, the hurried walk back, and Carol’s mischievous secrecy.

Carol couldn’t help but overhear behind her. To make up for Therese’s complaints, she started a pot of coffee as soon as she entered the house. Therese waited at the kitchen island, panting and mentally cursing Carol, but thankful all the same for caffeine. Carol even fixed it the way Therese liked it, serving it first before focusing on her own, and soon the grumbling subsided into contented silence.

During this silence, Therese became expectant for Carol to speak up. After all, that’s what her former professor wanted her here for, and why they returned from their walk. But Carol attended to her drink, so Therese occupied her mind by imagining the conversation and thinking of possible questions. 

“Now,” Carol said at last, in a matter-of-fact tone. “I know this is unromantic, but I want to be as clear and direct about what our relationship will be like. First, do you love me?”

Therese almost laughed at how obvious the answer seemed. “Of course I do! I’m in love with you.”

Carol smiled. “Good, because I feel the same about you,” she replied, turning to face Therese with a soft, but equally firm expression. “Which is why I want to be clear and upfront about what will happen between us. No confusion, just honesty and questions if you have any. Okay?”

Therese nodded as she nervously leaned against the counter and cradled her coffee like a shield.

“First, are you truly—and I mean this— _certain_ that you are not bothered by my already having one established relationship?”

Therese pondered it for a moment or two. She remembered how before, she felt jealous of Abby because Carol loved her and not Therese—or so she had thought then. Now that Carol wanted her too, she saw no more reason to envy Abby. She imagined Carol and Abby in bed together; instead of jealousy or hatred, it made her happy in a peculiar way, that now, Carol would desire to share the same experience with Therese.

A small smile echoed her thoughts, assuring Carol it was truth when Therese replied, “Yes, I’m certain.”

Carol exhaled with relief. “Good, because that brings up my second point: since you two are my lovers and I love you both equally, I will not tolerate jealously or competition if it’s over me. If there is a problem, we communicate and settle it right then. Is that understood?” Therese nodded. “Say it.”

“I understand.”

“Third, I’m not sure exactly what you like, but if you ever desire other lovers of your own, including Abby, you have my consent but I want to know before you see anyone; after the fact is infidelity, which is also not tolerated. Understood?” Therese nodded and voiced her affirmation. “Are you seeing a pattern here?”

“Communication.”

“Yes. All I ask in this relationship is that you be open and honest with me, just as I will be open and honest with you. If you don’t consent to something I do, tell me without hesitation. Will you promise me that?”

Therese nodded, staring Carol eye-to-eye: “I promise.”

Carol leaned back with a satisfied smile. “Do you have any questions?”

“Yes, but let me make sure I understand the dynamic: you are with me—who has no other lovers—and Abby—who has several others. Right?” Carol gave a firm nod. “Do Abby and I have to be in a relationship?”

“No, unless you two want to be. I only mentioned her to say she’s not off-limits simply because she is with me. But Abby usually doesn’t like more than one relationship, anyway. Our relationship dynamic is that I have another relationship and she has flings with other women.” 

Therese had no desire to have more than one lover, especially Abby, whom she had not even met yet. One possibility, however, voiced itself: “Do we have to have threesomes?”

Carol couldn’t hold back her laugh, trying as she might to conceal it behind her hand. “Again, not unless you want to. Everything we do is based on consent and trust. If one of us doesn’t want it, we don’t do it.”

“Will I get to meet Abby?”

“Of course! I can try to arrange for you two to meet on your next day off, or bring her by the store one day during your lunch. I would love it if you two became friends, but you don’t have to be. Just get along is all I need from you two.”

Therese almost asked, but she felt sure of the answer; of course Abby had to know about her. If Carol was so fixated on consent, then there was no doubt she told Abby about Therese prior to their date. They talked a bit further, and agreed Carol and Abby would meet Therese in a few days after she clocked out from the store, when they would all go to dinner. 

“Any other questions?” Carol asked.

“Just two: does this mean now that we are official, and if so…when will we…you know…?”

With a tender expression, Carol seated herself at last beside Therese, placing her hand over the younger woman’s. “Yes, we are official. Now that I’ve outlined what relationship we have, there’s no reason we shouldn’t be. As for sex, I’m still not ready yet. I promise you that you won’t have to wait long, but I need more time. I’ll let you know.” She winked, then leaned close to Therese’s ear, whispering, “But just so you know, my safeword is pancakes.”

Laughter burst from Therese as Carol pulled back, laughing with her. They stared at each other a moment, before Carol wrapped her hand around the back of Therese’s neck to pull her forward until their lips grazed. It was a soft slow kiss that didn’t melt into making out like last time. They pulled away, satisfied for now as their conversation turned to less important topics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has gone through several rewrites, so I hope it's up to the quality of my previous chapters. :) Thank you all for continuing to read! Chapter eleven will come when it can (but much sooner than two months. Much. Much. Sooner.).


	11. In Which Therese and Abby Meet

_I’m looking for another job. I swear, I am going to get another job._

She was in a foul mood today. First, she had slept through her alarm, making her a half-hour late to work. After enduring the tired, frustrated reprimand from a CSM, her first transaction had been with a sour-faced elderly couple, who criticized her every attempt at bagging their groceries. After that, a belligerent woman argued the price of every discounted item Therese rang up. By the time it was completed, she wanted to explode at the price coordinator for not keeping the prices updated, goddammit! 

The night before, she had had a nightmare, making her shudder each time she recalled it. In her dream, the superstore’s walls started closing in. No one noticed, but kept walking aimlessly, buying things they didn’t need and screaming at cashiers for not checking them out quickly enough. When the walls pushed everyone against each other, all the cashiers, including Therese, were shoved underneath the customers so that the latter smothered the former under their sweaty, writhing bodies, seconds before the walls crushed them all. It had woken Therese in a panic, and she almost called in sick before soothing herself with the fact that the job was temporary and that today she would meet Abby.

Before she had gone to bed, Therese had performed a quick search for museum jobs. Nothing had shown except for a janitorial position, so she tried for libraries. That had some luck: two jobs as a front desk assistant, one for a reference librarian, and a part-time page. She thought if she could work in a library again, that at least would be far superior to Walmart. 

Hope stirred in her as she saw herself working around a better clientele, the sorts of people who didn’t view you as the scum of the earth because you worked in the shittiest retail chain. There would still be bad days in a library, for sure, but if she worked for a university library, she’d be almost respected. If you wanted help with research or access to various databases, you wouldn’t yell at your librarians. 

A job where no one yelled at her…. Therese grinned at this when the CSM released her for lunch. As she munched on cereal, she did a quick check of the position to verify the qualifications—and found the closing day was today. Therese swore under her breath. Why didn’t she see that part last night? She checked the other positions: reference librarian required a Master’s, page was only open to university students, and the desk assistant shared the same closing date. 

Her options, to her dismay, were gone.

She felt the walls from her dream closing in. She glanced around at the older associates, especially the ones with nametags that announced how many years they had worked here. Fifteen, twenty years. What was it like to have worked here for twenty years? For her, it appeared as a haze, a wide gap of time enshrouded by fog, like that of her forest. Her breathing quickened and her hands trembled as she envisioned herself in twenty years, two decades of screaming customers, apathetic management, hard floors that pained her legs night after night—herself, a living ghost who had long learned to give up, who decided to content herself on a dull routine. 

She let out a quiet cry that went unheard. As tears began to well, her phone buzzed, ripping her back into reality. A text from Carol.

_Hello, darling, hope you are having a good day. I’m afraid we’ll have to cancel tonight’s plans; I forgot that Abby has to give a lecture out of town. Neither of us know when she’ll be back, but we’ll reschedule soon. Love you!_

Therese sighed with disappointment, tears finally releasing themselves. The one other thing keeping her afloat today was her dinner with Carol and Abby. She looked forward to seeing Carol for the first time as a lover, and watch Carol’s eyes brighten when she would see Therese. Now that would have to wait, and Therese would have to suffer through the day without her. 

Ashamed of her tears, which finally caught the attention others, Therese dashed from the break room, ran across the store, and escaped outside where she welcomed the smell of the breeze and the openness around her. She made her way toward the building’s corner, away from onlookers as she tried to regulate her breathing. She reminded herself that this was only a temporary job, that all she had to do was try again—don’t give up! Something to hold her over financially until she could get save for a Master’s and get closer to the job she wanted. She repeated to herself that she would still see Carol again, and she could get through today without her like any other. She tried to comfort herself in Carol’s text: the “darling” and the “Love you!” Carol said it and meant it. 

What also provided comfort was the simple knowledge that she and Carol were together. It had seemed strange at first, especially during the drive back from Carol’s during that last visit. Her former professor, a woman Therese had admired for years and once thought would never love her the same way back, now in fact did. The creative writing professor was now her lover. Knowing that made the day a bit brighter for Therese.

“You okay?” a voice sounded a few feet away from her.

Therese’s head shot up to find a businesswoman staring at her with concern. She blushed, hiding her face as she scrambled to wipe her face with her hand. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

She wouldn’t look back at the woman, until she heard her chuckle and approach. “Here,” the woman said, holding out a handkerchief. Therese almost refused, but as she started to speak, she felt a bubble of mucus form from her nose, and with her head lowered, accepted the cloth. She wished the woman would go away and not entertain herself with Therese’s misery. The gesture was kind, but Therese wanted to be alone.

“Rotten job, isn’t it?” the woman asked, kindly.

“How did you know I worked here?”

The woman chuckled. “You’re still wearing your vest.”

Therese blushed again. “Um…yes. Yes, it’s…only temporary, though.”

The woman nodded with understanding. “When the going gets tough, the tough get going,” she recited. “There’s only so long you can stay before it deadens you.” Before Therese could question her meaning, the woman inquired, “How do you pronounce your name?” 

“Ter-ez.” 

“Ter-ez? Not Theresa? Well, happily met, Therese.” The woman extended her hand, and Therese shook it while studying the woman. 

She must’ve been in her late twenties to early thirties. She had dark brown hair with faded green streaks, pulled up in a loose bun, and dazzling brown eyes that lit up when she smiled. She reminded Therese of Carol, but held herself in a much more languid way that projected more cockiness than easygoing. Her eyes posed an unspoken challenge that Therese couldn’t quite understand, the way Carol’s did when assessing Therese, and her voice carried the tone of an untold in-joke that only she knew. Maybe it was a result of her obvious high position: her outfit, a maroon pant-suit with a navy blouse, had the shine and style of a high-end boutique. Her voice sounded like it belonged in a southern band, a slight accent and an enunciated, melodic lilt to her words. Therese found herself wondering what the woman wore when she wasn’t working, whether she was like this all the time. 

“Look, I appreciate what you’re doing—really, I am—but you don’t have to—”

“I know. I’m sorry if you would prefer to be alone. You just looked like you needed someone to talk to, but if I’m wrong…”

Just as the woman was turning away, Therese realized the woman was right. She wanted to vent to someone who would listen. “Wait!”

The woman, as if knowing, turned back and said simply, “Tell me about it.”

And so Therese found herself ranting about her day, about her dream, her failed job search, the cancelled plans. All the while, the woman was patient, leaning against the wall with Therese, nodding in all the right places, her expression radiating sympathy for the younger woman.

“That does sound like a horrid day. I’m sure though that Abby would have loved to meet you today too,” Therese nodded in agreement, but still felt sore over it. The woman requested, “Tell me about this Carol of yours.”

Therese proceeded to tell the woman all about Carol, what she looked like, how extraordinarily eccentric she was, how much she anticipated whenever they met. She found it easy to open up to the woman about anything because she knew the woman would listen and understand. What did it matter to the woman if Carol were polyerotic and dating another person, or that Carol had been Therese’s professor only two years ago? All the while, the woman’s eyes remained soft, yet distant, possibly thinking of her own lover. 

“Carol sounds divine,” the woman said at last, with a quiet, dreamy smile that Therese felt carried more to it than she knew. “I’m sure she feels the same way about you. And it sounds like a healthy relationship you’re entering into, though you haven’t properly met Abby yet.” The woman kept her eyes on Therese, again with the same evaluating stare as Carol, but with a greater challenge. “Do you know anything about Abby yet?”

Therese tried to remember, but to her embarrassment, could only remember, “She has flings with other women.”

The woman looked stunned for a moment, then released a burst of laughter. “Well, as non-descript as that sounds, I’m sure Carol wasn’t seducing you for Abby.”

Therese laughed with her. She wished she didn’t have to go inside; why not stay outside with the woman, a friend? A friend whose name she realized wasn’t given.

“What’s your—?”

“When does your lunch break end? I don’t want you to be late getting back,” the woman asked, frowning as she checked her watch.

Therese checked her own, certain that she still had time. Her eyes shot wide open as the time indicated her as fifteen minutes over. “Shit!” she cried.

“Hey,” the woman soothed, placing a hand on Therese’s shoulder. “Deep breath, all right?” Therese did as she asked, then straightened. If she were late, then so be it. She had more than enough good reason. She thanked the woman for her kindness.

“Believe me, the pleasure is mine. Best of luck with your new relationship. You truly are a lucky woman.” With a wink and a fox-like grin, she sauntered away, saying, “See ya around, Therese!” 

What had she meant by that? Perhaps she would become a regular customer? Therese certainly hoped so. Just like it had livened her to see Carol, it would almost as equally make her happy to see the woman again. 

The rest of the day had its downs, but Therese was still energized by the encounter. But after work, the disappointment over the cancelled plans crept in. She read Carol’s message again, and responded, _Well, that’s a bummer. I actually had a shit day, though I met someone who made it better. If you’re free, want to talk?_

It wasn’t until she arrived home that her phone rang in response. “Carol?”

“Hello, love. I’m sorry to hear about your shit day. Want to tell me about it?”

Therese began to speak, when she got an idea. “Actually, would it be possible for me to come over? I think just seeing you would help a lot.”

“As much as I would love to see you, I must say no. It’s late and with a two-hour drive here and another in the morning—you’ll be exhausted before you even clock in tomorrow. Besides, I have Rindy and I promised her I’d take her to a play this evening.” Therese could barely hide her dismay. “I’ll make it up to you. Promise. Starting with you venting to me about your day.”

So Therese related the events of the day, with Carol cursing the customers and expressing sympathy. Therese told her about the businesswoman and her generosity. When she got around to explaining how odd that she was so formally dressed, but sported green strands in her hair, she was interrupted by a quiet chuckle and a repeated, “Of course. Of fucking course,” from Carol. 

“I’m sorry,” she explained. “I just happen to know exactly who you met, and of course she would pull a surprise visit on you. She’s always one for surprises.”

“So do you, if you—” Therese retorted, when it dawned on her. “I met Abby, didn’t I?” 

“Yes,” Carol confirmed, chuckling. “She apparently visited you before her lecture.”

“That explains why she reminded me so much of you.”

Carol laughed. “We are very much alike, you’ll find. I’m glad she at least made a good impression on you. I was afraid at first you’d be intimidated.”

“Actually, I found her to be very kind. Is she always like that?”

“Yes. Usually, anyway. The best way to describe her, Therese, is that she’s a tiger when she’s trying to impress and a Tigger when she’s not.”

This made Therese more eager than before to meet Abby—properly, this time, with actual introductions. What was Abby like when she wasn’t attending business functions? She grilled Carol with questions, but Carol evaded them and told Therese that she would soon find out.

“If there is one thing I know about Abigail Gerhard,” Carol remarked. “It’s that she adores being a surprise.”

 

 

When Therese pulled into Carol’s driveway, she saw Harge and Rindy running around the backyard with Carol, clearly sharing quality time as a family. She had no sooner emerged from her car when Rindy caught sight and called out to her as an ally. 

“Therese! Tag Mommy!”

Carol flashed a sly smile as she dodged a half-hearted attempt by Therese to tag her. Her face was covered in sweat as she panted for breath. After the dodge, she stood still with her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath and waving off concerns from others. Therese waved to Harge, shared a few pleasantries, then felt a small push against the side of her leg. 

“Tag!”

“Rindy, I think we need to—pause the game for a bit. It’s…. It’s starting to—wear me out,” Carol huffed. “What do you say we—go in and make—milkshakes?”

Rindy dashed back into the house, cheering. Harge almost followed her, but turned to approach Carol. “You okay?” he asked with concern.

Carol nodded. “Just exerted too much energy. You go ahead in and I’ll be right behind. You too, Therese. I’ll be there.”

Both reluctantly left her as they joined Rindy inside. Harge set up the blender and checked outside to find Carol performing some breathing exercises. A minute or two later, she came inside as well and dodged all questions about how she felt. 

“Just ran too long, that’s all,” she said, her focus on the blender and her back turned to the others. 

Harge gave up and decided to move his attention to Therese. “I heard you met Abby. Or rather Abby met you.”

“I did, yes. I heard she’s a Tigger.”

Harge laughed at this. “That, she is. She’s a Tigger, I’m an Eeyore, Carol here is Kanga, which makes Rindy Roo, and you…” He struck up a mock analytic pose, assessing Therese. “Carol, who would you say she is?”

Carol glanced up at Therese. “Piglet, but only because you’re so unsure of yourself right now. Given time, I’m sure you’ll advance to Winnie-the-Pooh.”

“Do you want to watch me bounce?” Rindy asked Therese.

“Not in the house, sweetheart,” Carol interjected. “By the way, for Christmas, because she’s Roo, we call her Rindy Roo Who.”

All three of the adults cracked up at that, while Rindy tried to explain the full joke of it. Carol served up the milkshakes, while Harge asked Therese about her painting, particularly if she were the one who painted that picture for Carol in her office. 

When Therese confirmed this, Harge replied, “I see. She was quite impressed with that painting.” 

Carol said nothing, but Therese beamed with pride as she watched a hint of a smile on her old professor’s face. The two talked further about it, whether Therese was interested in continuing painting (she was, one day), and if she hoped to make a career out of it (yes and no; she wanted to be curator). 

In return, Therese learned that Harge was a cardiothoracic surgeon for the Carilion Hospital, often working between fifty to sixty hours a week, if not more. Whenever he had a day off and wasn’t on call, he would keep Rindy. Because of the instability of his schedule, he implied that Carol had full custody while Harge could see their daughter whenever he wanted. 

As he spoke, Therese could see the Eeyore in him. Perhaps it was the bags under his eyes from constant fatigue, or the slow, calm way he interacted, but she sensed a deep sadness within him, a quiet submission to some misery with which he had learned to live. An occupational hazard, she supposed? Surely he had to have seen his fair share of humans in pain, some he may have tried but failed to save. 

Was it also to do with Carol? She realized for a moment how this situation may look to him: his ex-wife and her new lover together, both waiting on the other lover to appear soon, in the same room with him while his daughter hurried to pack an overnight bag because that’s all the time he could afford to have with her. Did Harge find someone else to love? Did he even have time for romance? Therese wanted to be bold and ask him, was he lonely? But without needing to ask, she could tell the answer was yes. 

When Rindy had emerged from the room after packing her bag, Harge said his farewells, shook Therese’s hand, and hugged Carol. Soon, his car disappeared around the bend of the driveway.

Before Therese could ask Carol about him, Carol reached out to her and said, “Come here,” before wrapping her arms around the younger woman and kissing her deeply. Therese forgot all about Harge and Rindy and Abby; Carol was all that mattered right now. 

“Missed you,” Carol whispered.

“Missed you, too.”

“Your forest today?”

“Illuminated.” Therese stared back into Carol’s eyes. “I’ve never seen it so bright. The fog is in the distance now, but what’s around me…it’s so beautiful.”

Carol smiled and kissed her again. Slow, steady affection that needed no hurry. Therese remembered that this was the first time they met as lovers. She burned into her memory the feeling of Carol’s arms around her, the scent of her hair, and quiet hum of content in her ear. 

They had gone on this way for a while when the sound of a car door interrupted them. 

“That would be Abby,” Carol observed. She watched from the window as Abby leapt up the porch steps and in three great strides, opened the door.

“Hullo, hullo!” she greeted. 

Abby appeared much different than a week before. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders, the ends jagged and pointy, and the streaks re-dyed back to their shamrock brightness. Instead of a suit, she wore a white tank, revealing a tattoo of a rainbow that served as a staff for musical notes on her right arm, and a word in flowing script on her left wrist: _Promise_. Her gait exuded more cockiness and swagger due to her leather pants that resembled blue jeans, and also displayed scuffs and scratches along the thighs. Over her shoulders, she wore a distressed brown courier bag with a button on the strap that said, _Make Music, Not Wars_. 

“Are you coming for fun or coming to stay?” Carol asked her.

“Both,” Abby replied.

“You nitwit.” Carol greeted her with a kiss. Abby tried to kiss her again, but Carol replied, “I’m not alone.”

“So I see,” Abby replied, turning her attention to Therese with a grin that made her look much more like a tiger than a Tigger. “I told you I’d see you around.”

Her accent had also changed. The southern twang to her voice shrugged off the trained enunciations of last week, making the melodic lilt more pronounced—not like a southern belle, but like a powerful vocalist in an Appalachian bluegrass band. Therese wouldn’t have been surprised if she broke out singing at any moment, like in a musical, about hard times and lovin’ her darlin’. 

“Therese, this is Abby Gerhard,” Carol introduced.

“I have no manners,” Abby joked.

“Absolutely none.” Carol ribbed her, good-naturedly. 

“But happily met again, Therese,” Abby remarked, her cockiness dampened into the gentleness with which she first spoke to Therese. “Hope I didn’t cross any lines with last week.”

Therese smiled. “Not at all. It was nice of you to help me. Just wished we could have had a proper introduction. I’m Therese Belivet, of course.”

“See? Manners,” Carol teased, lightly smacking the back of Abby’s head. “Therese told me that you reminded her a lot of me.”

Abby threw her back with laughter. “Yes, after a while, this one’s mannerisms do rub off on you.” She looked lovingly at Carol and pinched her cheek. 

Carol lightly swatted the hand away. “ _Whose_ mannerisms rubbed off on whom? Believe me, you’ve influenced me more than I you. Why don’t you two chat in the living room while I fix another round of milkshakes, this time with some Kahlua.”

“Sounds divine!” Abby agreed as she tossed her bag onto a side table and flopped down at the end of the sofa next to the armchair. Therese seated herself on the other end. She watched with curiosity as Abby lifted her knuckles up to tap the picture of the banjo player above her. 

“I’m sure you’ve noticed my self-portrait,” Abby asked. 

Therese gazed up at it. The portrait was an abstract in jazz age appearance but with thick Van Gogh brushstrokes to magnify the brighter colors. In it, a seated man plucked on a five-string banjo, his person highlighted in various blues with greys to show off the shadows, and his banjo captured with earthy tones like umber and cream, all of which contrasted seamlessly against the background of warm colors. 

Nothing in it resembled Abby in the slightest.

“Self-portrait, indeed,” Carol scoffed, joining them with milkshakes. “Looks no more like you than my face does my ass.”

“Well…” Abby quipped. “Have you looked in the mirror?”

“Shut up,” Carol retorted, while Therese laughed at the pair of them.

“Do you play banjo?” she asked Abby.

Abby’s face lit up with pride. “I do. Ever since I was twelve. Give me a little bit and I’ll play for you.”

“I can’t wait,” Carol remarked, then got up. “I’ll be right back,” she said before heading to the bathroom.

Abby waited until she was out of sight before saying, “I really am glad to meet you, Therese. Properly, this time, of course. I understand if my visit was inappropriate.”

“No, it wasn’t. I’m glad about it.”

“Good,” Abby responded, pleased. “It’s just I tend to think _after_ I act, something Carol has warned me about several times.”

Therese did not know what to say to that. Abby didn’t even wait for her to think about it.

“Would you mind having lunch with me some time? Not as a date, of course, nothing like that. Just to talk and discuss some things. I’d like to get to know you more.”

“Sure. Maybe Thursday?” Abby agreed and they set their time to meet at Therese’s apartment. 

When Carol returned, Abby spoke first to Therese, “So Carol told me you paint. Do you paint more like him or him?” She gestured between the banjo player and _Convergence_ above the fireplace. 

Therese pointed immediately above her. “I prefer art that reflects the majestic undertones of reality.” She glanced at Carol, who beamed at her.

“Didn’t I tell you that once?” she asked. “During one of our afternoons?”

Therese grinned that she remembered. “It was the first time I had shown you a work of mine. I was explaining what I like to show in my work, but not very well when you phrased it like that for me.”

Carol’s eyes glistened with pride and wonder. “Why ever did you stop painting, Therese?”

Therese looked at her fingers, ashamed of her answer. “I just…didn’t see the point of it anymore, I guess.”

Abby’s eyes darted between the two, entertained by the scene. On one side, she saw a young woman who had lost her way, including part of what made her extraordinary. On the other, she watched the professor, eager to help, to set the girl back on her feet again, and watch the student bud and grow. A smile tugged at her lips. 

“I’m going to fix that,” Carol announced, like Abby knew she would. “Therese Belivet, you have a gift and by the colors of the rainbow, you will paint again.”

Therese stared back at her, unsure exactly how to respond. “Okay,” was all she said.

Carol nodded in confirmation as she sipped the last bit from Abby’s drink, as Abby stared at her: _Seriously?_

“Um…unless you two would rather be alone,” she said, taking back her cup and staring at the empty bottom. “I’m in the mood to fire up Ol’ Blue.”

“You know where it is,” Carol encouraged.

“Before then,” Abby thrust her cup back to Carol and took hers to finish what remained. Carol smirked as Abby stuck out her tongue: _Serves you right._

Abby hurried—almost skipping—down the hallway as Carol maintained her smirk and grabbed a chair from the dining table, placing it in the middle of the living room floor. Abby returned with a banjo case in hand, seating herself on the dining chair and opening the case. From it emerged an old, but well-kept banjo that Abby proudly displayed to Therese. The company insignia on the headstock had long since faded past recognition, the frets showed some stubborn tarnish, and a few scuffs ran along the edge of the resonator. Despite the flaws, the wood of the back and neck shone with polish, and Abby commented that she had changed the banjo head and strings a month prior. All in all, the instrument reflected the passion and family legacy of its owner. 

“Ol’ Blue,” Abby introduced. “Passed down from my granddaddy, and now it’s my baby.” She tapped her nose against a tuning peg, donned a set of fingerpicks on each fingertip, then began to pluck each string, listening and tuning. Therese watched in fascination.

“I would have pegged you more for an electric guitar player,” she remarked.

Abby laughed. “No, I just look that part. I had thought about electric guitar when I was little, but I always loved the sound of granddaddy on his banjo. When I told him I wanted to learn, he gave me Ol’ Blue. Now banjo is my passion.”

Therese admired her accent and wondered if she would sing. When she asked Abby where she was raised, Abby responded that she and Carol had come from Georgia. Therese paused: she and Carol? So they had grown up together? Therese wanted to ask more, but saw Abby concentrating on her instrument and decided to wait until another time. 

Abby adjusted her position. Carol’s eyes watched, enraptured. The musician corrected her wrists, then started a slow, modest tune, keeping an even melody. She played another, faster and more upbeat, and Therese realized these were only the warm-ups, that Abby would soon reveal the full extent of her skill.

Sure enough, when she finished the third tune, a quick, sprightly tune in allegro, she paused. She breathed. She breathed again. 

And fingers flew across both fretboard and strings. 

Therese gasped in astonishment. Abby’s fingers plucked and hammered with such agility that it would have made the head spin of either her audience members. If she went any faster, Therese thought, she wouldn’t be surprised if smoke drifted from the fretboard. She recognized the tune as “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” and sure enough, Abby sang the lyrics, with her own twist.

_Abby, don your fingerpicks_  
_and pluck that banjo hard!_  
_‘Cos Hell’s broke loose in Georgia_  
_and the devil deals the cards._  
_Now if you win, you’ll get this shiny banjo made of gold,_  
_but if you lose, the devil gets your soul!”_

Carol’s eyes closed as her feet tapped and fingers danced along her thighs as if she could play as well, while Therese clapped the beat. As Abby performed the devil’s solo, Therese watched the musician’s face darken with concentration: nostrils flared, eyes wide, lips pulled back into a snarl that channeled rage, extra pressure on the frets, and whine of steel stings plucked too hard. Therese found it frightening, and wondered if Abby was only performing for the sake of the devil. 

When the solo finished the darkness dissipated, and the joyful Abby returned. Carol sang along during the “Fire on the mountain” intro and this solo, she too underwent a change of countenance. Musician and listener’s eyes burned with fortitude, both staring at the devil to say, “Fuck you.” Abby glanced at Therese to make sure she was watching, then tilted the banjo as if she were rocking out an electric guitar during Johnny’s—or in this case, “Abby’s”—solo. 

When the verse and solo repeated, they sang together again in triumph. Good conquers evil. Haunting histories once again buried beneath glorious futures. Abby hammered out the last notes, and both audience members applauded as she made a mock bow. 

“Harge plays acoustic guitar, by the way,” Carol mentioned to Therese. “This one here has been hounding him to learn his part for ‘Dueling Banjos.’”

“He’s taking too long!” Abby exclaimed. 

“Because he doesn’t want to do it,” Carol pretended to whisper. 

Abby shook her head, muttering how she at least had hope for Rindy. She performed another song, not quite as long as the first but just as lively, though she did not sing along. Afterward, she contented herself with striking a few chords here and there. 

“You’re fantastic,” Therese complimented. “Very talented.”

“Thank you, but it’s not so much talent as more than two decades of practice. Practice…” She stared straight at Therese. “And not giving up.”

Therese lowered her head, unable to respond. Abby adjusted her banjo, clocking a new scuff on her pants. When she looked back at the young woman, she said, “It’s okay, you know. Having a dark period. Musicians hate their music, writers—like Carol—get writer’s block, and painters lose inspiration. You’ll find your feet again, Therese.” 

Therese smiled, but did not look up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a good last week, so I was able to write/edit this a lot more quickly than usual. :) 
> 
> Chapter 12 will come when it can. Thank you all for reading and for your comments!


	12. In Which Abby Speaks Further With Therese

Abby was a quarter of an hour late. Therese waited by the window, trying to stomach a nutrition bar, which helped hunger, but nothing for her growing apprehension. At first, she thought this would be a private chat of getting to know one another, but as the morning dragged, it occurred to her that maybe Abby had rules too, perhaps this was a screening to make sure she was right for Carol, or that Abby, with a polite passive-aggressive tone, would say she could fuck Carol all she liked, but Carol was completely Abby’s. Her rational mind at first dismissed these fears, reminding Therese that Abby didn’t seem the possessive sort, nor did she know for sure what would happen, so why worry? An hour later, Therese remained by the window, unable to do anything but gaze out and dread the meeting.

A green Jeep Wrangler pulled into a space in front of the apartment. Therese’s breath hitched as she watched the hands of the driver type on a phone, resulting in a vibration in Therese’s pocket.

_Hey therese just pulled in. u ready?_

With a deep breath to calm herself, Therese rushed out. Abby waved from her car as Therese entered, pleased that Abby’s car was less luxurious—and less neat—than Carol’s. Papers and various books covered the backseat, while writing instruments and old receipts littered the floorboards. 

“Hey,” Abby greeted with a grin. She looked the same as last time, only switching her leather pants for khaki cargos.

“Hey,” Therese replied, her apprehension dampened slightly by Abby’s easygoing manner. “So…where are we going?”

“Do you mind if we just take a drive? I brought sandwiches and soda.”

“Um, sure.” The apprehension returned. “Seems like a lot of gas money, though.”

Abby laughed. “I’m not worried about it.” She put the car in reverse and pulled out on the street. They each took a moment to gather their thoughts when Abby began, “So…if you don’t mind my asking, how’s things with Carol?”

“They’re fine.” 

Therese had not seen Carol since the visit with Abby, but almost every night was spent on the phone, listening to her voice and reading her texts. Last night’s conversation consisted of Carol “accidentally” letting slip that she had a surprise for Therese, and the younger woman trying subtly—and failing— to extract information.

“Just fine?” Abby teased, glancing at Therese with a sly grin. She must have read and understood Therese’s casual shrug, because her grin faded and she said with a nod, “I see. She’s still taking her time, huh?”

“Is there something she’s looking for?” She knew this question was better for Carol, but she decided to try gaining some secondhand knowledge.

“No. She just likes to make sure she’s ready. And when she is, you’ll know it,” Abby answered casually. She winked at Therese, removing much of the dread that still lingered, though there could still be a follow-up.

Therese waited for it, but instead Abby focused her attention on the heavy traffic until she felt confident to return her attention to her passenger. “All right, the main thing I want to discuss is our sharing Carol. I’d also—if you don’t mind, of course—like to know you better.”

“Okay,” Therese replied, sinking a bit into her seat.

“Now, I’m not controlling like ‘This is the only time you can see Carol, don’t do this, don’t do that, _Carol is MINE, dammit!_ Carol wants both of us, and I have no problem sharing.” She emphasized her last point with a playful punch on Therese’s arm. 

It occurred to Therese that Abby sensed her nervousness, and was trying to alleviate it. She flashed a shy smile back at Abby, who returned it with a grin. 

“I don’t mind sharing, either,” Therese remarked. 

Abby nodded, pleased. “Then here’s how it’ll be: either of us can do what we want unless we plan something on the same date. If that happens, whoever set it first keeps it, unless Carol says otherwise. Would you prefer us being next-to-strangers and see as little of each other as possible, or do you mind being friends?”

A laugh escaped from Therese. “Friends, definitely. I…think you’re a really cool person.”

She wondered if Abby’s grin was a permanent fixture, if Abby didn’t know how to be anything other than happy. Abby chuckled and replied, “Thank you. I think you are, too. I’m glad you want to be friends; Carol enjoys things she can do with both of us—and I’m not talking about sexual things. I mean like cooking and going to museums and stuff.”

But Therese was focused on the “sexual things.” She laughed nervously, saying, “I’m not sure how I feel about…threesomes and all that. Yet, anyway.”

To her relief, Abby shrugged and said in the same casual tone, “That’s fine. It’s not important. By the way, how comfortable are you talking about sexual stuff, anyway?”

Therese stared at her in shock. “Like, in detail?”

“No! No.” Abby smacked her forehead and laughed. “Sorry, should’ve thought before I spoke. I meant general things, ideas of it, not the nitty gritty—I don’t need to know that stuff. I’m used to being open with Carol and others, but I understand if you’re not.”

“No, speaking about it doesn’t bother me.”

Abby glanced at her, an eyebrow raised. “Not many things bother you, do they?”

It was Therese’s turn to shrug. “Some things just don’t matter that much.” 

Abby nodded in agreement, and the two relaxed into a brief silence as they traveled beyond the city limits and into open country. Both lowered their windows to welcome the gusts of air racing inside and cooling them down from the heat. Every now and then, Therese would glance over at Abby, admiring the continual happiness she radiated. Was it because of Carol? Or did Carol learn happiness from Abby?

As she studied the driver, she began to believe that Abby was different than Carol in the way that while the latter saw the world as a canvas of breathtaking and horrifying art, Abby saw life as a game. She was a happy-go-lucky player while the cards favored her, and when they didn’t…what then? Did Abby continue to smile and laugh her way back to winning, or did she become angry, determined? Therese wondered what anger from her new friend seemed like. 

A thought played: _Sometimes the brightest smiles hide the darkest secrets._ Who told her that? 

“So,” Abby spoke at last, “what all has Carol told you about me besides my sexual habits?”

“Um…” Therese realized with embarrassment that Carol had not regaled her with details about Abby other than what Abby revealed first. Except one, shared during a humorous texting conversation: “She said you were hornier than a fucking rabbit?”

“Oh!” Abby yelled, eyes wide with mock scandal. “Oh, she’s one to talk! Let me tell you something, once that woman decides she’s ready to have sex, you’ll find she can barely keep her hands to herself from then on. Hornier than a rabbit—like she can fucking talk!”

Both roared with laughter. When Therese asked what Abby had been told about her, Abby replied—to Therese’s relief—that Carol had not divulged any extra info, so Therese figured that this was the part in their conversation where they would get to know each other. She looked around the car to see what she could learn about her new friend, when her attention caught the textbooks on the backseat. Every single one was about insects. 

“You study bugs?” she asked Abby.

“Yeah, it’s my job. I’m an entomologist for Virginia Tech. I help with research and teaching when I need to—you could say I’m their consultant, and the best perk is that I work from home.”

She proceeded to tell Therese more, how she felt limited to studying what others ordered. What she wanted to study (and teach, if she got excited enough) were the precise cognitive functions of bees. They’re smarter than we think, Abby explained, and described all the wonderful things new research revealed. Therese watched her eyes, noting with curiosity—and a tinge of disappointment—that Abby’s eyes did not light up like Carol’s. Abby did not retreat into an inner world nor did her voice turn dreamy. She was excited, but it did not take over her.

The impromptu lecture ended with Abby commenting, “Carol’s always thought about beekeeping. I’m hoping since she’s been feeling better the last year, she’ll start.” 

“Feeling better? From her ‘chest sickness?’”

Abby stiffened. Her expression revealed she had spoken carelessly and was silently cursing herself. “Yeah,” she confirmed. “Rindy must’ve told you.”

Her cursing became audible as they approached road construction, blocked by a site worker holding a stop sign. Therese quickly contemplated extracting more information from Abby or whether to leave it. It wasn’t her business after all, but it felt frustrating to constantly sense a secret everyone else knew. Even if it didn’t affect the younger woman, she at least wanted to know _something_. After Carol’s outburst last time, Therese felt reluctant to ask her again, and since Abby had been so open, Therese predicted that finding out more may be difficult, but not impossible. 

While Abby seemed preoccupied with the wait, Therese ventured, “Why doesn’t Carol like to talk about it? What exactly was the sickness?”

Fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Why don’t you ask Carol that?”

“Because she bit my head off last time.” 

Abby’s mouth instantly moved to retort, but she stopped herself and breathed. She rolled up the windows to avoid the din of distant drills. Therese slumped in her seat. So it would be impossible to learn more through Abby after all. She stifled a sigh of disappointment. Out of the corner of her eye, she kept seeing Abby glance over at her. 

Finally, Abby sighed with frustration and replied, “She hates talking about it because she hates remembering it. It was a scary time for her.”

Therese straightened, asking with caution, “But…what exactly—”

“Breast cancer,” Abby answered. She stared at Therese. “Now I have a question for you: why are you so curious about it?”

“Well…I-I just want to stop feeling like everyone else knows something I don’t.” Therese struggled to find her words. “I…don’t—like—Carol—hurting. But it’s like she has a…shadow…that appears sometimes. And…well, it scares me.”

Abby chuckled, responding, almost mockingly, “If it scares you, you wouldn’t believe how Carol feels.”

It was best to give up, Therese decided. She was grateful for the information Abby had offered, but if the older woman was going to make her feel guilty about it, then Therese didn’t feel it worth continuing. 

She heard Abby sigh again. The driver ran a hand through her hair and looked at her passenger. Therese glanced at her then looked out her window. The worker turned his sign to _Slow_ , allowing them to proceed ahead, and Abby spoke at last.

“Therese, I’m not trying to come across as mean or anything, but…” She sighed, planning her words with care. Therese’s gaze remained outside the window. “There was a lot more going on in Carol’s life than just the cancer; it’s a period of her life she prefers not to remember. Yeah, I can imagine it’s frustrating when you’re not let in on a secret, but—this is a personal thing of Carol’s, okay? I’m telling you, frankly, and as a friend that it’s best to leave it be because it’s none of your business.” 

As much as she wanted to, Therese could not argue with that. Curiosity gnawed at her, but like before, she had to accept it was indeed none of her business. She remembered Carol telling her during Reunion that she and Harge divorced a year ago—did Harge leave her because of the cancer? Professor Sparrow had also died… Therese could not sink any lower into her seat if she tried as her curiosity subsided into guilt. 

“Just one more question. I promise I’ll shut up afterward.”

Abby side-eyed her. “One condition: _if_ I answer, you’ll tell Carol everything we’ve said about it. I’m not keeping this conversation from her.”

“Okay, sure. It’s gone, right? The cancer?”

Abby exhaled, a hint of a smile struggling to form. “For now, yes. The doctor said there was a chance it could come back, but…Carol believes it won’t.”

 _And what do you believe?_ Therese wanted to ask. But she kept her promise, and said no more. She let the conversation remain silent as they exited the work site and continued down the road. The sky by now was turning grey with eventual rain. 

“You getting hungry? How about we stop for a bit and eat?” Abby suggested. Therese agreed.

They parked on the side of the road next to a vast, empty field. Therese got out with caution; this could be someone else’s land. Abby did not seem to mind or care as she walked into the open grass. Just on the horizon, a storm’s dark outline threatened its approach. Abby did not seem to mind that either. 

When they were a few yards from the car, Abby was satisfied to stop and lay out a small blanket for them. Together, they ate peanut butter and Nutella sandwiches with root beers, while the tension of their conversation still lingered between them, holding them in a no-longer-comfortable silence. Therese quickly thought of conversations that might bring the carefree side of Abby back, so when both had finished their lunches and reclined back on the blanket, she inquired, "Remind me again how long you've played banjo?"

As she hoped, Abby broke into a grin, back to her usual self. “Since I was twelve, so almost thirty years.”

Therese whistled in awe. She asked Abby questions as to what made her begin, what other songs she knew, whether she thought about making it a career. Abby revealed that she had grown up listening to her grandfather play, and when she had asked at age twelve to learn banjo, he had taught her on Ol’ Blue and passed it on to her. She had taught herself many songs by ear, usually the vocal melodies, and no, she would not pursue it as a career because she played it for enjoyment and not fame. 

“Speaking of banjo,” Abby said, “I only have one personal rule: If you so much as _touch_ Ol’ Blue, I will break every single one of your fingers at every single knuckle.”

First, Therese was stunned, wide-eyed in fear. Then, she burst into laughter. “Abby, I don’t give a damn about your banjo! Trust me, I won’t mess with it.”

Abby only smiled and placed her hands under head in relaxation.

“How long have you know Carol?” Therese inquired. 

Abby shrugged. “Since I was eight. Why?”

“You two just seemed like you had a long history together.”

“We’ve…been through a lot together. I don’t think there’s really ever been a time in our lives when we were apart.”

“You said you two were from Georgia, right?”

“Born and raised. We lived in Vermont for a while before coming down here.” She laughed. “And I strongly believe we’re here to stay. I have never seen Carol so in love with a place as she is with Roanoke and Appalachia. Where are you from?”

“North Carolina.” 

“Oh, that’s not too far.”

“Far enough,” Therese said, more quickly than she intended. Abby looked at her curiously. “I’m not very close with my family.” Instead of a response, Abby adjusted her position, leaning forward as if expecting Therese to continue. It would be so easy to confide in her, Therese knew, but it was not a conversation she enjoyed. Yet to satisfy Abby’s generosity to listen, she offered the explanation, “My mom and I…don’t get along. Not since Dad—well, even before Dad died.”

As she spoke, she watched Abby’s eyes flash. She paused; had she said something wrong? Abby said nothing, but continued to stare. Although she did not want to, Therese heard herself fumbling. 

“H-he died when I was eight. Pneumonia. I-I think Mom blames me, even though it wasn’t my fault. Personally, I think it’s hers; she nagged him enough when he was alive, I’m sure death was a relief to him.”

She was babbling now, and certain that Abby did not want to hear any more. But Abby still stared, her hands resting on her fingers and her eyes sharp as if gauging or analyzing the young woman. Therese looked away, unwilling to say anything else.

“Have you told any of this to Carol?” Abby asked, so quiet Therese almost didn’t hear.

“No. Not that I remember. Why?”

“You should. I think you’ll find you two have a lot in common.”

A distant rumble of thunder broke their thoughts. The storm by now was halfway toward them. Against the steel blue clouds, the grass illuminated a brilliant shade of green under the last bit of visible sun. If Therese had tried to paint it, she would have added hints of orange and red to suggest a prelude to a battle. If Carol had given it a narrative, Therese could imagine her describing how each side would roar out its battle cry, the grass loudest just before the storm pummeled it down. 

“Tell me, Therese,” Abby asked, her voice distant, as if the storm spoke through her, “do you run from storms?”

“No.”

Abby did not look at her, but Therese could see the humored doubt in her face. “You sound confident. I hope you are.”

Therese’s cheeks turned crimson. “No, I don’t run. I will say, however, that I don’t like the idea of driving in one. Nor am I fond of getting wet!”

That seemed to snap Abby out of her trance. Her head whirled to find her car, windows open and picnic items not yet put away. She laughed at herself and stood. If she detected the impatient irritation in Therese, she only answered it with a grin.

“Just so you know,” she remarked, throwing the items in the basket, “Carol loves to dance in storms.”

“Whatever for?” Therese huffed, not bothering to hide her tone.

“So she doesn’t get scared of them.”

Since when was Carol afraid of thunderstorms? If she were, then it was so like her, Therese thought, to face them through dancing. She forgot about the storm for a moment as she imagined a storm at Carol’s, and Carol taking her by the hand outside to waltz. They would laugh until they were soaked, then rush inside to the warmth of a fire and towels. She hated to get wet, but for Carol, Therese would tango through every thunderstorm until kingdom come. The thought made her laugh with excitement. 

“Hey, Therese!” Abby called. “For someone who doesn’t like to get wet, you sure are taking your time to avoid it.”

Therese glanced behind her at the sheet of rain rushing toward them. She dashed for the car, praying she would reach it before the storm. She could see Abby laughing at her, but kindly reaching over to open her door for her. Therese leaped into the jeep, closing her door a half second before the rain hurled itself against the car. 

Abby was still laughing. “I think I understand better now.”

“What?” Therese asked.

“You really are a good match for her.” Abby eyed her. “I never doubted it, of course—but now, I can really see it.”

Therese didn’t know how to answer that. The silence stretched on until a reply seemed too late, and so they remained quiet as they turned back toward Charlottesville.

When they were back within city limits, Therese asked, “Anything else I should know? Rules?”

“Nothing more that involves Carol. From here on out, we’re just two friends dating the same person, respectful of the other’s relationship to her, and…that’s it. I’ve told you how I prefer the dynamic, you agreed, and we got to know more about each other.”

Abby parked in front of Therese’s building and looked straight at her passenger. “I really like you, Therese. I’m glad you and Carol are together; you’ll make each other happy, I know.”

Therese beamed. “Thank you, Abby. I really like you, too. Can we…do this again sometime?”

“Sure. And don’t be afraid to call or text just to talk. As you’ve noticed, I’m a fantastic listener.”

They reached over to hug each other, and Therese flashed Abby one last smile before leaving the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and for your wonderful comments! Chapter 13 will come when it can. Since you're all lovely and supportive, I'll go ahead and give a hint as to what happens in it: 
> 
> Carol will be ready. ;)


	13. In Which Carol Begins to Help Therese Grow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got behind again. :( This chapter became emotionally difficult to write due to the end of a three-year relationship, but I powered through to present this lovely piece to you.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

She had three days off. Three miraculous days of odd scheduling that didn’t cut into her vacation, just some stroke of luck from higher up. Carol suggested those days well-spent first at her place, then at Therese’s. Plans were set, and Therese spent the upcoming days showering twice, planning her outfits, and fantasizing.

Now she stood in Carol’s kitchen, rejoicing in that familiar feeling again of coming home. Carol, in the meantime, was in the office preparing the surprise of which she had earlier hinted. Every now and then, Therese could hear sounds of wooden parts clacking together and a few quiet, frustrated curses. 

While she waited, Therese focused on the rain. _Carol loves dancing in storms_ , Abby had told her. Did she also dance in gentle showers?

“Ready!”

Therese turned back to find Carol leaning around the corner with an excited grin. When both entered the office, Therese laughed as she found an easel waiting for her.

“You’re really serious about helping me, aren’t you?” Therese teased. 

“Yes,” Carol said, matter-of-factly. “Starting now. You paint while I write.”

Therese pulled open the drawer and gasped at its contents. Carol had replaced the stock paints with bigger, more expensive, and higher quality acrylic colors—cobalt blue, burnt umber, cadmium yellow—and the cheap brushes for better bristles. Resting on an end table next to the easel was a wooden palette and a small bottle of gesso, ready to be applied on the 14x16 canvas that awaited imagination.

“Thank you so much,” Therese breathed.

Carol wrapped her arms around the artist from behind and kissed the back of her neck. “You still have a path in your forest that’s overgrown. I watched you walk it once and if there is still joy it can bring to you, I want to help you find it again.”

Therese smiled, exhaled, then turned to touch her lips to Carol’s. “But what will I paint?”

“Anything you want, darling. I myself don’t know yet what I’ll write about, which means I can write about anything.”

Therese considered asking Carol to model for her, but then realized a human was too ambitious—she had been out of practice too long. She felt confident enough for either a basic landscape or complete abstract. And since she didn’t feel creative enough for abstract, she settled on whatever she saw out of the window…which wasn’t much, but would do for now. Both settled into their respective spaces, with Carol beginning to write again and Therese organizing what materials she thought she would need.

First came the gesso. While that dried, next came a long look toward the distance to determine which shade of blue seemed best, then mixing blue and white accordingly, with a hint of lavender. Broad curved strokes over the canvas, white slivers peeking through to blend in as clouds. 

Every now and then, each would look at the other to observe their respective crafts. Carol would smile wistfully as the words flowed from pen to page, her head bobbing up and down as if to song. If she became stuck, she would furrow her brow and bite the edge of her lip or the top of her pen with a frustrated sigh. When the words flowed again, she laughed quietly and resumed her smiling and nodding. Therese’s expressions operated oppositely: her brow remained knit with focus as her eyes darted between canvas and landscape, and when she wondered about a certain area, she stepped back with a blank countenance until she figured it out and continued.

A few quick, light strokes to mimic the leaves, white watercolor-esque highlights in the sky, a palette of grey and forest green…. Therese’s hand now moved of its own accord, knowing exactly what to do while her eyes remained vigilant to the details, the puzzle pieces that came together to form her artwork.

When she stepped back to examine her progress, she gasped in surprise as Carol wrapped her arms around her again from behind. Therese could feel her lover assessing the portrait with her, and suddenly, even after regaining her focus for it, blushed with embarrassment.

“I-it’s not very good,” she stammered. “The weather’s…not good either. I mean, I can do better.”

“It’s so sad,” Carol mused. “Melancholy, even. Did you intend it that way?”

Upon her fifteenth or fiftieth examination, Therese realized that other than the white highlights, there was no shred of any lighter hues anywhere. Not only did it look melancholy as Carol described, but it appeared drab and lifeless. 

And to think she had been doing so well.

“No,” Therese replied. “I just tried to use the colors I saw.”

Carol glanced between landscape and its simulacrum. “What about honey? A warm color light enough to provide contrast?”

“Honey on acrylic?” Therese asked, confused.

“The shade, honey, not the food.”

With a shrug, Therese attempted it, applying a thinned, watered layer to the clouds. To her pleasant surprise, the layer brought the sky forward, transforming it from passive rainclouds to ominous foretellers of a storm. Carol smiled smugly, and returned to her position by the window. 

“Now you saw my progress,” Therese remarked. “Will you read me yours?”

Carol chuckled. “I would, if I had anything of substance. But alas, everything I’ve written I’ve crossed out.” As proof, she showed Therese her notebook. Where there had been lines of text, furious scribbles crossed them out. However, some were spared as they crossed the sides and over and above the censors. Therese pointed them out, and seeing how something was a better exchange than nothing, Carol read:

 

_as you reach_  
_(grasping? embracing?)_  
_for me through the darkness,_  
_assuring yourself that I’m still here._ ”

 

“I like it,” Therese complimented.

“It’s only a fragment. Here, let me find another.”

The writer stood and opened a filing cabinet. She sifted through folders until she took one out and opened it to see its contents. 

“This one I wrote when Rindy was two. Quality is decent at best, but it’s a favorite of mine:

 

_You built your kite with butterfly wings,_  
_spider silk, and dragon skin,_  
_with a dash of Charlie Brown_  
_to give that boy hope. Even with_  
_the magic, it took some time,_  
_because no magic is perfection—_

_(a secret, darling: perfection is a mistake)_

_But summer winds hum, and a dragon_  
_with butterfly scales and silk veins,_  
_takes to open blue. We ran along with him,_  
_guided by your song of laughter and pride_  
_that after all that wishing,_  
_you got that kite to fly._ ”

 

“That’s beautiful.”

Carol smiled. “She built a kite one day, each part a metaphor. I remember she couldn’t stop laughing, even when kite wouldn’t go up but just scrape the ground. But when it did fly—oh, Therese, the child’s expression. Wide eyes, gaping mouth, whole body alight with childhood wonder. Harge pretended to be the knight hell-bent on killing it, but too much of a buffoon to succeed while I got to be the queen and punish him. Rindy chose to be a wizard, since she brought the dragon to life. I can’t wait until she’s eleven so she can be a wizard again.” 

Therese listened, but didn’t respond. 

Carol continued, “I like to think that day was the best day of my life. People always think those kinds of days are big events, like weddings or births. I think it’s a day of a positive snowball effect, where one good thing leads to another and another, until by the end, you’re so alive with happiness that when you look back on that day, you can’t imagine nor wish for it to have gone any other way.”

Therese still said nothing. 

“But I’m rambling, of course. And distracting you. Forgive me.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Therese sighed at last. “It’s just…jealousy, I guess.”

Carol straightened. “Of what?”

“You talk about having a wonderful day with Rindy, playing pretend with her. I guess I’m just…envious…that she had a mother who would do that for her.”

“Your own mother never—”

“Not with me, no. I’m kind of a thorn in her side, something to blame for Dad’s death.”

Carol began to speak, but paused, her mind having snagged something. Finally, she replied, “I thought that was a lie? From our game?”

Therese sighed. “It was— _is_. Because I want it to be. That, and I blame her more.”

When she looked back at Carol, she found the same expression of higher esteem that she loved. Carol saw her differently, better. Than what, Therese had no clue, and found she didn’t care anymore. All that mattered was Carol seeing something new in her, something that brought her closer. 

“Did she treat…Dannie, was it? Did she treat him the same.”

“Dannie’s the star child,” Therese replied with a bitter edge. “He doesn’t remind her of Dad, wants to be a firefighter, and makes straight A’s. Perfect son.”

“You hate him for this, don’t you?”

“No,” Therese admitted with a sigh. “I used to. It’s always been obvious Mom and Phil loved him more than me. But no matter how much I wanted to hate him, I couldn’t ignore that he was the only one who cared about me.”

“And do you keep in contact?”

Therese shook her head. “To talk to him, I have to go through Mom. He doesn’t have a cell phone unless that changed in the past two years.”

Carol was silent, possibly thinking of sage advice or a reasonable plan, Therese supposed. She resumed a couple more strokes, focusing between her work and lover. Carol still thought, eyes growing distant and dark. 

“It’s a shame how those we hate keep us from the ones we love,” she said at last, “especially when they have the power to do so. All I can say is that if and when you ever see him again without the influence of your mother, leap on the chance to reconnect with him.”

Therese began to respond, but the words got lost. Was Carol speaking from experience? When she looked toward her lover, Carol’s eyes were still darkened, staring at the scribbled sheet in front of her, all interest in continuing gone.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” Therese asked.

Carol’s eyes flicked a few degrees over, then blinked rapidly as she snapped herself out of her daze. “Oh! Forgive me, my thoughts ran away from me. I’m fine, no need to worry.” Her notebook snapped shut and she stood to stretch before returning to her artist’s side.

“Much better,” Carol breathed.

Therese stepped back to examine her work. What had begun as a cloudy day was now the prelude to a summer storm, dark trees against a yellow sky and grey droplets of rain falling into the reflective puddles along the road.

“It looks nice,” Therese half-heartedly agreed. 

Her assessment earned a light, playful smack. “You’re either too modest or too hard on yourself. Either way, what do you say to stopping here and having dinner?”

It sounded like a perfect plan. 

 

Later, after a meal of chicken salad and pork chops, they cuddled on the sofa. Their cooking had been mostly quiet, small talk exchanged here and there between them. To make up for the lack of conversation, there had also been plenty of tomfoolery, with passing kisses, miniature food fights, and once or twice a smacked behind. Dinner had been the same, minus the spanking. 

Therese’s head pressed against Carol’s chest, listening to the heartbeat underneath. A gentle rhythm, marking time passing at a slow speed. She understood now why Carol chose to mark her time by heartbeats: time could be controlled through what affected it. When relaxed, time was slower, relaxed to extend the moment. When anxious, time was faster, a quickening approach of the end. 

“Darling,” Carol mumbled, interrupting her lover’s thoughts. “How about some music?”

Therese couldn’t agree more, so she scrolled through her iPod to find a relaxing song, when she stumbled upon one which, seeing the title, made it a perfect one. The song began with a smooth piano rhythm, followed by an equally calm saxophone. Soft, light jazz that made Carol smile and sway. 

“This is a beautiful song,” Carol praised. “What’s the name?”

“Uh, something in Spanish. I wouldn’t know how to pronounce it,” Therese replied, a little too hastily and with a mischievous grin.

“Therese,” Carol pressed, catching her tone. “What is it?”

Therese could barely contain her chuckle. “It’s ‘Retrato de Cate Blanchett.’”

Carol stared at her. “How dare you?” Her tone was light enough that Therese recognized it as teasing.

“Well, fine, I’ll change the song.”

“Leave it,” Carol said, stopping Therese’s hand. “I like the song, if not the title. That name is still banned in this house, by the way.”

Therese couldn’t stop grinning. “I take it you still get mistaken for her?” 

“I think as long as I’m alive, I’ll always be associated with that woman. A portrait of her,” Carol sighed. “She ought to be thanking me for taking on some of the fan-load.” Therese looked at her curiously. “Let’s just say I’ve become an expert at her signature.”

Therese’s eyes widened. “You _what_?”

“Just let me know whenever you want one.” 

“And if she ever finds out?” Therese asked.

“I’ll tell her ‘You’re welcome!’”

Wide eyes continued to stare in astonishment. A smirk was the only reply. Finally, Therese laughed and shook her head resignedly. 

“I’m dating Cate Blanchett’s portrait,” she muttered.

“You are dating a good friend of yours who admires you just as much as you admire me. Miss Elizabeth Jasmine Galadriel can keep her fame.”

Therese laughed again, and said nothing in reply. Together, they listened to the rest of the song. Toward the end, Carol stood up, despite protests from her comfy partner. To make up for it, she outstretched her hand.

“Dance with me?” she asked.

Therese smiled and accepted her hand. Their bodies fitted together as arms wrapped around waists and hands joined. Swaying, twirling, and laughing together in complete disharmony with the song, which by now was playing its final notes. Carol took out her phone to pick the next one, apologizing in advance.

“It’s cheesy, sappy, and cliché, but I’ve wanted to dance to it for a while now.”

Before Therese could ask, she recognized the first piano and cello notes from the speakers. “A Thousand Years” by Christina Perri. 

“You fucking cheeseball,” she teased.

Carol smirked as they resumed their position. They started slow, swaying like before to the first verse, first chorus. Cheeks touched as both listened to the other’s breathing. Therese’s head lowered until it lay on Carol’s shoulder, relishing the feel of Carol’s whole body against hers, holding her safe, all the while loving her as much as Therese loved her.

When the second verse began, Carol’s steps glided into a waltz. Therese stumbled with the change at first, and accidentally stepped on Carol’s foot. They laughed, adjusted, then continued in uneven movement. Therese had little experience with waltzing, much less dancing as a whole, but Carol kept the pace slow, guiding Therese through every step.

Once Therese got the general motions down, Carol increased their steps, each motion becoming more graceful. Their eyes held each other, jade meeting summer raincloud. The song played the final chorus, and lovers glided around the room with grins and full hearts.

When the song ended, they slowed to a halt, foreheads touching and breaths ragged with excitement. Therese silently wished, waiting for Carol to make the next move, whatever it may be.

“Therese,” Carol whispered at last. Her lips hovered in front of the younger woman’s, just barely touching. “I’m ready.”

Therese gasped with ecstasy, at which Carol seized the opportunity to slip her tongue inside for a hurried kiss. Her fingers entwined with the young woman’s before leading her to the bedroom, stopping at the foot of the bed. When Therese tried to move her hands to Carol’s face, Carol lowered them back down to her lover’s sides. 

“Wait,” she commanded.

Therese arched an eyebrow in confusion. Carol cupped her lover’s face and explained, “I want to take my time with you. Really see you and feel you. I want to feel like I’m truly creating you.” Her fingertips caressed Therese’s neck as she asked, “May I sculpt you?” 

Therese stared into Carol’s eyes. She had no idea what Carol meant, but even if Carol had asked it instead, Therese would have followed her into oblivion. “Yes.”

Carol smiled and kissed her once, twice. Then, with a slight tremble, fingertips grazed eyelids, closing them, before gliding below to cheekbones, nose, lips… Therese sighed and tried to take Carol in her arms, but her sculptor stopped her once more.

“Don’t move unless I tell you. And keep your eyes closed. I want you to focus on feeling me.” 

Therese nodded with obedience and stayed still. Carol’s fingers drifted toward her hair, massaging her scalp. She did not seem to mind if Therese made any noise so long as she made no other movement. Scalp to neck. Every once in a while, Carol would lower her mouth to a particular place to kiss or breathe, as if her exhalations carried divine life. Therese would shudder involuntarily, causing Carol to smile. When Carol finished sculpting the neck, her fingers glided down to the buttons of Therese’s shirt, undoing each button with a teasing, languid ease. 

When she pulled the fabric open, Therese stiffened, remembering without wanting to a time with Richard. For the longest time after unclothing her, he had stared blankly at her body. When pressed to explain, his only response was, “What do you say turning the lights off?” It had been the first time—after some mechanical sex—that he had suggested healthy eating and living classes. He had tried to phrase it casually, as if the question weren’t related to anything prior; once he had fallen asleep, Therese had slipped out of bed to weep in the bathroom. 

She tried to hold the memory back, but even now it stung her to the point of watering her eyes and she waited blindly for Carol’s reaction. Would Carol feel the same? She thought she heard a sharp inhale, followed by a couple steps behind her. Just when Therese almost dared to open her eyes, she felt Carol’s hands slide the shirt off her, then unhook her bra. Once that too hit the floor, Carol cupped each breast and touched her lips behind her lover’s ears to whisper, “You look so…”

_Disgusting,_ Therese immediately thought, still thinking against her will about Richard. 

“…breathtaking.” 

Therese’s eyes flew open, a tear finally rolling down her cheek. Had she heard that correctly?

“I’m what?”

This time, Carol whispered it directly into her ear. “Breathtaking. Divine. Radiant. Resplendent.”

A sob escaped as Therese hung her head, smiling yet somehow still not wanting to believe it. Carol came back around to her front and lifted her chin so that their eyes met. 

“I mean it,” Carol murmured. “You are so gorgeous. And he took away your belief in that.”

Tears continued to stream as Therese could only nod and reply, “He made me feel….”

Carol stopped her with a firm kiss. “He doesn’t matter anymore. _I_ think you are glorious—I always have, Therese. You know I have. What he took, I want to give back to you. I want to help you believe in yourself again.”

Therese’s head fell onto her lover’s shoulder as she wept with joy. It struck her that a lack of belief in herself had stretched far beyond Richard. Not once had she ever recalled her mother or stepfather calling her beautiful. Once, Phil had called her pretty, but his tone was too casual to be genuine. Dannie had called her beautiful several times, but Therese had spent most of the time shoving him away to truly believe him. Now here was someone—the kindest person she was blessed to know—who not only thought she was beautiful but also worthy of love. And the enormity of that miracle struck Therese so much that all she could do was release her happiness through crying.

All the while, Carol placed delicate kisses along her neck while stroking her hair with one hand and rubbing her back with the other. When the tears eventually subsided, she parted from the younger woman just long enough to reach for a box of tissues, resulting in an embarrassed laugh. 

Once Therese cleared her nostrils and wiped her eyes, she stared back into Carol’s eyes, finding only the pride and forgiveness she loved so much.

“I love you,” she whispered.

She watched Carol’s eyes sparkle as they reflected a smile. But instead of saying the same, Carol chuckled, “Eyes closed and hands by your side. I am far from done, darling.”

Therese obeyed and delighted once again the feeling Carol’s hands caress every inch of her. Only now, her senses were heightened by Carol’s words so that each touch resonated within her like flint on stone. Carol’s fingertips awakened a brilliant illumination within Therese, making her feel alive as if for the first time. 

When Carol lowered her pants and proceeded with her bottom half, Therese began to tremble. Fingertips would glide oh so close between her legs, only to retreat to a less sensitive area. Carol was teasing her now as much as she “sculpted.” Thighs, calves, feet… After she finished with the feet, _that_ area was all that was left. 

Like before with the breasts, Carol slipped behind Therese, first running her finger where thigh met buttock. Therese shivered at the contact, eager for where her fingers would eventually land. But Carol proved she would take her sweet time getting there, as her fingers grazed at an agonizingly slow speed over each buttock, before sliding up and down the crack. Therese moaned and considered begging for release. 

When there was nowhere left to sculpt, Carol placed her left hand on top of Therese’s and glided it between the young woman’s legs, palms spread over the area to first massage and circle it. Then, with one finger controlling the other, both slid between the folds to run a center line back to front, followed twice again for each side. They went slowly, not rushing the sensation and experience. Therese slumped forward with pleasure and Carol’s right arm wrapped around the young woman’s torso to help steady her. 

At last, when everything else was created, both fingers slid inside. Therese’s breathing deepened further as both fingers twirled around, leaving no slick area forgotten. Pressure built up inside Therese as she focused on the fact that Carol was inside of her, creating her, bringing her to life—God creating Therese in Her own image. 

As if she were reading her thoughts, Carol slid the fingers in further and paused. Therese waited for her next move and after a few breaths, a few heartbeats, she felt Carol’s lips touch her again as the lyrics softly flowed:

_Cover your crystal eyes_  
_and feel the tones that tremble down your spine._  
_Cover your crystal eyes_  
_and let your colors bleed and blend with mine._

Therese shivered and gasped with pleasure as fingers slid out and proceeded upward to a certain spot. Combined with the stimulating wetness and feel of two fingers pressing and rubbing in slow circles, Therese struggled, but managed to respond in kind:

_But I’m okay in see-through skin._  
_I forgive what is within,_  
_’cause I’m in this house, I’m in this home_  
_all my time…_

Carol grinned against her shoulder as she pressed and stroked the two fingers harder against Therese’s center. The young woman trembled as both lifted their voices again to repeat the chorus, god and woman coming together, artist giving the final breath of life unto her creation. 

And Therese exploded with that brilliant illumination. Everything—she, Carol, Roanoke, the Universe—burst into tiny particles that hung in the air with no sense of time or hurry, content to linger and exist. Then, they retracted back together, calmly reconstructing stars, planets, and human bodies.

Carol waited for Therese to come down from her afterglow before beginning to lead her to the bed. But once Therese understood her actions, she stopped the older woman.

“Wait. It’s my turn.”

Carol chuckled in response and retreated back to where they started. “Let me undress myself. It’ll save you the effort and besides, I have my sensitive point as well.”

Therese watched with confusion that not long melted into hilarious fascination as Carol first removed her pants, revealing beautiful legs where between knee and ankle, it was most obvious that Carol clearly forewent shaving. 

“I’m glad you’re laughing,” Carol said, “because I haven’t shaved _any_ part of my body in years. Don’t expect me to change that.”

“Never!” Therese replied, still giggling. “I just feel so ridiculous now.” When Carol arched an eyebrow, she explained, “I shaved mine just for you!” For emphasis, she lifted her leg and gestured to its smoothness, then did the same for her armpit.

They took a moment to laugh at the absurdity. “Please, Therese,” Carol said, “don’t ever feel like you have to change a single thing on your body just for me. You are breathtaking just the way you are.”

Therese smiled fondly back at her, joyous tears edging along her eyes. “I’m eager to see how breathtaking you are.”

Carol’s smile faltered as her hands finally unbuttoned her shirt. As she pulled the fabric apart, she kept her eyes sharp on Therese.

Therese gasped at the sight. She understood now what she felt had been different with Carol: where there should have been breasts, two grey, jagged lines crossed diagonally along Carol’s chest. With a cautious hand, Therese gently glided her fingertip along each one, her face reflecting her pity.

“Oh, Carol…”

Carol snatched the young woman’s fingers away, and hissed, “Don’t!”

Therese’s head whipped up to face her, eyes wide. Carol, immediately regretting her reaction, closed her eyes and inhaled. Exhaled. Then, she slowly released Therese’s fingers. 

“Please—don’t—ever—use that tone of voice again,” Carol quietly explained. “I don’t want pity or condescension or patronizing bullshit. I want.... Therese, I am proud of these scars.” With her hand on top of Therese’s, she placed both against her chest. “These are my proof that I am still living, that what tried to kill me before is not coming back. You see a loss, I see a fair trade of breasts for life. So please, don’t feel sorry for me.”

Stammering, Therese replied, “I’m sorry…I didn’t—”

“You don’t have to apologize. I just want you to understand, okay?” When Therese nodded, Carol leaned forward to kiss her, removing the sting of her earlier reaction, and with an added flick of a tongue against the young woman’s ear, she could sense the arousal coming back. “Now, I believe you were about to sculpt me?”

Not another second was wasted. Therese’s fingers caressed Carol’s cheekbones, eyebrows, lips. This woman she respected, looked up to, and loved, she would explore and understand each plane and curve of her smooth body. She smiled each time she heard Carol sigh with delight, especially when running her fingers through the older woman’s hair. 

Her fingers, however, were more cautious than her lover’s. Where Carol had been firm, Therese was delicate, as if she were crafting Carol from crystal, while Carol had molded her from clay. Hands traveled to chest, floating over the scars, then proceeding with stomach, sides, and back (during which Therese swore she heard Carol purr). Her laughter renewed when she sculpted shoulders, finding that Carol indeed refused to shave any part of her body. And, she was pleased to find, Carol was ticklish. Along the right arm, Therese admired a tattoo: skin carved away, droplets of blood still rising from the “wound”, to reveal tree bark beneath. 

“A literal tree,” Therese observed.

Carol nodded. “When I die, I want my ashes used to plant a tree so that I may one day become one. Trees stay in the present, unaffected by anything, and nurture all animals who need it. They stand against storms, tower above the humans, and whistle their music through their leaves. Just like the kind of person I want to be.”

“Who says you aren’t already?”

Carol smiled. “I do.”

Therese smiled and shook her head, not wanting to argue about it, and continued. The last thing to sculpt for the upper half now was the set of scars. She stared at them for a moment, then cast a cautious glance at Carol. Carol kept her eyes close, but her brow furrowed with concern. When another moment passed without any action, Therese heard a quiet, sad sigh. 

What Therese feared Carol would think of her, Carol now thought it true of Therese.

Hesitating no more, Therese trailed them with her fingertip. Shallow canyons walling against a grey riverbed, long dried as a sacrifice to keep the land existing. Carol’s breath deepened, and Therese had an idea.

She moved away from the scars for now to kneel down and bring her attention to the lower half. Her hands stroked, then kneaded firm buttocks, before continuing downward to smooth thighs, where the hairs were light and fine. Below the knee (where she found was also a ticklish place), she giggled with admiration at the feel of the darker, coarser hairs that seemed to scream their rebellion toward societal expectations. 

“Does Abby have these legs, too?” Therese asked.

Carol chuckled, but her answer had a clipped edge to it, “Yes. Worse than mine, in fact. We have what her mother termed ‘bear legs.’”

Therese laughed at the joke, but minded Carol’s tone. Carol was still thinking the worst of Therese’s reaction to her chest. 

Therese hurried through the feet, eager to enact her plan. Once finished, she stood back up and paused, building the anticipation for her plan. Just as Carol was about to inquire, one hand slipped between her legs, turning words into a gasp. Therese mimicked Carol’s sculpting by rubbing the whole area first, then slipping a finger to trace the folds. Another pause, followed by a slow circle of a fingertip around Carol’s clit. Carol moaned with pleasure as her hips rocked in motion with Therese’s hand. 

At the same moment Therese slipped her fingers into the deeper part of Carol, her tongue traced each grey line, each shield, each proof that she was still alive, her forest still vibrant with fervent life. Just as Carol loved Therese’s weight, so too did Therese love the scars. 

Carol’s hips rocked harder, her breath ragged. She groaned in protest when Therese slowed down; the combination of the angle and the speed of her thrusting ached her wrist, forcing her resort back to the clit. Before she continued, however, her tilted her lips up to Carol’s ear.

_Breathe in, breathe out._  
_Let the human in._  
_Breathe in, breathe out._  
_And let it in._

Her free palm rubbed the scars, emphasizing the next lines, as her other hand renewed its fervor.

_Plants awoke_  
_and they slowly grow_  
_beneath the skin._  
_So breathe in, breathe out._  
_Let the human in._

Carol’s body trembled with mounting ecstasy. She stepped forward to fix her balance, but missed her step, causing both of them to fall sideways onto the bed. Before Therese could adjust her body, she felt Carol flip her onto her back, then straddle her hips and return the younger woman’s fingers to their rightful place. Therese rubbed as hard and fast as she could, watching with fascination Carol’s writhing. 

Carol then surprised her by dipping her own hand down and stroking between Therese’s legs as well, so that both pleasured the other. She re-inserted her fingers one by one, earning numerous whimpers, until all five were inside. Therese’s nails of her free hand dug into Carol’s shoulder blades as her hips gyrated with raw pleasure, especially when Carol began to rapidly pull her fingers out and push them back inside. Tension mounted as both gasped and moaned. 

“Therese,” Carol breathed. “Therese, look at me.”

Therese looked at her, but another thrust made her squeeze her eyes shut. 

“Look at me, Therese.” Therese tried again, more successfully. “Keep your eyes on me.”

Pleasure kept building. Summer raincloud eyes stared into jade. Mounting, mounting, mounting…

“Eyes on me, Therese.”

Summer raincloud eyes. Smile that forgives each fault. Wavy, lemon-scented blonde hair. Carol. Carolyn Ross Aird. 

Therese tried to form the words, but they caught in the gasps. She was beyond speech now, yet she tried, “I…I…I-I….” More like breaths than a letter. “I…”

Carol moved her free hand to stroke Therese’s cheek, smiling as jade eyes bore into hers.

“I love you, too.”

Both screamed as waves of ecstasy crashed over them. Carol collapsed onto her lover and nestled her head between shoulder and neck. Therese delighted in the feel of Carol’s hot breath against her skin and Carol’s fingers still inside of her, especially when her body pulsed against them. 

When Carol regained her breath, she hovered over Therese, staring again into her eyes. 

“My human,” she whispered. “Flung out of space.”

Her lips crashed upon Therese’s, taking over the young woman once again. Therese moaned beneath her, feeling Carol sculpt her again and again with both fingers and tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone interested, this is "Retrato de Cate Blanchett":  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PBZMJCkqOW0
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Chapter 14 will come when it can...assuming life doesn't hurl anything else at me. *cautious hope*


	14. In Which Carol is Haunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone. Short chapter, but as promised, I'm uploading what I got. Can't quite seem to get the upcoming dialogue right. For now, though, enjoy! :)
> 
> TRIGGER: Drowning, PTSD

Black water. Darkness, yet every ripple shining with unnatural light. Waiting. Beckoning. 

Angry roaring deafened her ears. Her eyes struggled to see each wave lunging up the cliff face toward her, each time eroding more of the ground. She flung herself backward against the cavern wall to seek exit, but the waves quickened their speed. At last they rose so high they licked her toes.

Screams tore from her throat. But the water muted her sound with the next crash, raising its voice above hers, and forcing her to cover her ears.

_Please, no. Please! Please don’t do this._

Words wouldn’t form. Even if they did, they would be nothing more than pathetic whimpers. Nor would the sea obey. It certainly would not now, as it calmed and paused in its pursuit to watch her. Voices whispered in her head, lying that everything would be all right. If only she let go…

Sobs heaved from her as she felt her hands lower to her sides. All control she had over her body now faded as the water held her to its will. She fought in vain. Her body straightened, and on the narrowest precipice between the cavern wall and cliff edge, peered over into the depths. 

Black water. Vicious. Vengeful. An abyss with no end. If she fell into it, her corpse would sink forever, never finding the bottom. 

It held her will, and any second would command her. Tears flowed past her cheeks to blend with the ripples below. She could get out if only she tried! Ripping away from the water’s hold with what will she had left, she whirled around to seek a foothold—

—at the same moment the water commanded her to fall.

Her body plunged into oblivion. Liquid poured into every orifice, stripping away her hearing, sight, and breath. She struggled to swim to the surface, yet could only sink further downward as she felt the water drowning her lungs. 

_NO!!_ She had to keep breathing! Keep breathing, keep—

 

Carol leaped into a sitting position. Her lungs pounded from her heavy breathing, and when she placed a hand against her torso, her skin felt drenched. Panting melted into sobbing. 

“Carol?” came a murmur beside her. “Hey, Carol, what’s wrong?”

_Carolyn! Can you hear me?!_

“I-I’m f-fine!”

Therese sat up and reached out for her lover. “Carol. Come here.”

Carol fell against her, tears still pouring and lungs aching. Her heaving breaths echoed throughout the room, drowning out the sound of Therese’s hushing. 

_Keep breathing. Keep breathing, Carolyn!_

She could still feel the water in her lungs. Liquid suffocating her, muting her screams for help. Black water. Everything around her…all black…

“Carol. Carol, ssshhh. It’s just a dream.”

“N-n…” Carol stammered, but couldn’t get the words out. She clung to Therese’s body as both lay back down. Therese stroked her hair, whispering words of comfort. 

“Breathe in, breathe out,” Therese quoted. “Let the human in.”

“I’m a t-tree,” Carol gasped. “Trees t-tower above w-water.”

Therese continued comforting her, until Carol’s breath began to even itself under Therese’s whispers. 

_Keep breathing. I’m right here…_

Safe. This was safe. 

Limbs slackened, eyes grew heavy again, and both resumed their rest.

 

Sunlight struck her closed eyes. When they opened, she closed them again as her hand whipped over her face. She turned over, pulled up the sheet against the light, and stretched her hand toward the partner. She found emptiness; Carol was no longer in bed. Therese looked up to search for her, but her lover was nowhere in the room. Instead, there came sounds of activity from further away, possibly from the kitchen. 

She remained in bed a moment longer to enjoy the softness of it as well as revel in the fact that she was naked in Carol’s bed. Her body ached in several places, particularly between her legs; Carol had fisted her repeatedly and though it hurt a bit, Therese wanted to feel Carol’s hand there again. 

Another memory surfaced: Carol weeping, trembling with fear. She had had a nightmare—something about a tree, was it? Or water? Therese tried to remember, but the only image that came was Carol gasping for breath. 

Was the dream why Carol was no longer in bed?

She thought so, when she caught a delicious scent. She sniffed, and understood that Carol was indeed in the kitchen, making breakfast. A grin widened across her face, and at the count of three heartbeats, she lifted herself out of bed. Her clothes were in a pile at the foot of the bed, but in the closet, she found a lightweight green plaid bathrobe that she thought was perfect for this morning. It fit a bit tightly, but for now, she walked out from the bedroom and toward the sounds of the kitchen.

There she found Carol, herself wearing a red plaid robe, and pouring colored batter onto a griddle. Beside her sat a plate of three pancakes already made, and what made Therese laugh, thus revealing her presence, was that each pancake was a different color—red, purple, and blue. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” Carol greeted her with a tone so chipper that whatever had scared her last night must have been forgotten. 

“Good morning,” Therese replied, her voice still sleepy, but more amused. “Why am I not surprised you even color your pancakes?”

“Because I’m in love with colors, darling. This is my Morning After Breakfast, made—as Abby likes to say—every morning after I get lucky.”

“And how did _that_ begin?”

Carol smiled fondly, and replied with a touch of nostalgia in her voice, “With an extraordinary surprise. Oh, and there’s coffee waiting for you when you’re ready, as well as these pancakes right here.”

Therese eagerly poured herself a cup, while Carol flipped the pancakes still cooking. When Therese went to examine their colors, Carol grabbed her arm to pull her closer into an embrace and a kiss. Both robes were untied, allowing the naked front of their bodies to touch. 

“By the way,” Carol murmured, “you look adorable in Abby’s robe.”

Therese stiffened, unsure how to feel about that. “This is Abby’s? She won’t break my fingers, will she?”

Carol giggled, unable to resist. “That’s only for Ol’ Blue. But if you want, I can get you your own robe. I would love to see you in a blue shade.”

The last sentence she spoke with a seductive growl, before gently nibbling Therese’s neck. Therese moaned as her hands wandered to rest on Carol’s chest.

“Does this mean you’re on the menu, too?” Therese flirted.

“Hm, I may be later. For now, though, I’m famished,” Carol replied, and handed the prepared plate of pancakes to Therese. “Bon appetit.” 

Therese ate with a bit of speed, not realizing how hungry she was until she began, while Carol ate slowly, smelling each bite before placing it in her mouth. She chewed with her eyes closed, Therese noticed, to savor the taste. 

“How is your forest this morning?” Carol asked, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Everything is either still trying to wake up or racing around the forest with happiness.”

Carol laughed with delight. “Everything is as it should be in mine. Bees are pollinating, birds are singing together as choirs, and all the flora are in full bloom. And the sunlight is extra bright today.”

“Yeah, I noticed. It woke me up,” Therese teased. Both shared another round of laughter before she added, “I’m glad you’re feeling better after last night. I’ll admit you worried me.”

Carol stopped mid-bite. She closed her eyes and slowly swallowed. “I was hoping you wouldn’t remember that,” she replied. “I just had a nightmare. That’s all.”

Therese stared at her. Some irrational part of her brain assumed that after last night, after this change in their relationship, Carol might have trusted her enough to tell her _something_. And had she not comforted Carol back to sleep? 

“Do you need to talk—?”

Carol cut her off with a firm, “No.” Then, taking Therese’s hand, added softly, “I appreciate the offer, though. But this is something I can deal with.”

Therese sighed without bothering to hide her dismay. 

 

 

After spending half the morning back in bed, both women at last took off in Therese’s car toward Charlottesville. Ten minutes into the drive, Therese had wished they had either taken separate cars or traveled in Carol’s, since she failed to tell Carol prior that her car’s AC was broken as was every window except the driver’s. When she glanced at her passenger, she could easily see the beads of sweat dripping from Carol’s forehead. 

“I’m sorry. I should have remembered.”

Carol waved off her apology with a smile. “It’ll make a cold shower all the more welcome tonight.” She emphasized her point with a caress to Therese’s knee, earning a blush from the driver.

“Care for some music?” Therese offered, turning on the CD player. The bridge to “Crystals” blared from the speakers, prompting Carol to replay the song. Both sang along beginning to end and throughout “Human,” exchanging mischievous glances as they remembered the night before. 

When “Empire” began, Carol spoke, “Speaking of empires, Abby wanted me to tell you that if you’re ever interested in working in a better environment, there’s an opening at a furniture store that she and I worked in a few years ago. I know you don’t want retail, but it’s a better midway job than Walmart. The owner’s a sweet man, cares about his employees, and Abby’s willing to put in a good word for you.”

“Sounds…all right,” Therese replied. “Not sure I know much about furniture.”

Carol waved off her concern. “Abby and I can give you a hand, as can Harkevey, the owner.”

While it would have been nice to get out of a horrible job, the idea of jumping into another area of retail didn’t seem all that promising. Just new clientele with different merchandise. But an owner that actually cared…. If she was going to work retail until she could find a museum position, it may as well be in a better environment. 

“Okay. Sure,” Therese said.

Carol smiled and texted Abby back, before regaling Therese with anecdotes from her days in the store. Some of the memories seemed a little too rosy to be accurate, but even so, Therese felt more confident in pursuing it. As long as she didn’t feel belittled every day, she could look forward to a job that didn’t make her regret waking up every morning.

Therese lowered the music’s volume so that Carol didn’t have to shout over it, but they could still hear if their favorite songs played. When the opening notes to “Black Water” sounded, Therese’s attention divided between it and Carol, who didn’t notice. 

The chorus and second verse passed, followed by the instrumental part. Discreet hands upped the volume just a decibel or two while the passenger wasn’t looking. The story by now concluded, and Carol glanced at the radio—which song was this?

_Swallowed by a vicious, vengeful sea._

She froze. 

Black water. Drowning. 

_In the deepest depths, I lost myself—_

Before either could register the action, Carol slammed the button to turn the music off. Her back pressed hard against her seat as she held her hands out before her, open as if holding something back. Breathing became giant gasps while eyes widened, red with tears. 

_It’s like I’m drowning in a black sea…._

_Keep breathing, Carolyn!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be working on the conversation these two are about to have, and try extra hard not to have a two month delay again. How to do that? Establishing deadlines. Such as a new update every two weeks. Going to work on that self-discipline.
> 
> Also, after all the negative life events I've had, I've got a positive one to share: I GOT A JOB WITH A LIBRARY!!! This is equivalent of Therese getting a museum position, so I'm so excited I'm bouncing off the walls! :D


	15. In Which Therese Confronts Carol

The car swerved onto the shoulder. Therese switched off the ignition and hesitated, unsure how best to calm Carol. Slowly, she whispered her lover’s name and reached out a hand. 

Carol snatched it and held onto it for dear life. Therese winced under the pressure. 

“Carol, what’s going on? Talk to me.”

Shapes of words formed, but after desperate attempts, Carol covered her face in embarrassment. Therese waited and listened as she muttered under her breath what sounded like a lengthy list of colors, particularly shades of blue, green, and red. After a few more shades and calming breaths, she squeezed Therese’s hand. She opened her eyes, about to speak, but when her gaze turned to Therese, she faltered again, gazing at younger woman as if she didn’t know how to speak, so just squeezed the young woman’s hand again and let go. 

“Carol? What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Um...I, uh…” Carol struggled. “I’m sorry. I hate that song.”

“Yeah, I noticed. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“I just hate it,” Carol snapped. “That’s all.”

“Carol…” Therese paused. It wouldn’t do any good to seem impatient or irritated. Rather than inquire directly, she tried a different tactic. “What’s your forest right now? How’s it looking?”

“It’s…dark.” Carol’s voice broke at the adjective. Tears rushed down her face as she squeezed her eyes shut. This time, when Therese reached out a hand, Carol swat it away. Then she sniffed, straightened her posture, wiped her eyes and spoke again, “It’s bright, the way it has been for the past few years. The trails I burned are gone and bright new overgrowth has overtaken them. They’re not coming back.” She repeated: “They’re not coming back.”

Connections linked in Therese’s head. “You mean the cancer’s not coming back?”

Carol sighed. Shook her head. Rubbed her face. “Yeah. I mean… _that’s_ …not coming back.”

“Is it why you had your nightmare?”

“Can we not talk about this? Please? God, it’s so hot.”

Therese noticed with twinge of regret that Carol was drenched in sweat; sitting in a car without any sort of air circulation was probably killing her passenger. She started the car again and merged back onto the highway. For a while, neither spoke and the music remained off. One thought of how to recover the ecstasy of the drive while the other contemplated how to reach her lover. 

“Do you trust me?” Therese finally spoke. 

“Jesus Christ!”

“Wouldn’t you tell me if something scared you?”

“I’m not frightened, Therese.”

Therese scoffed, “You’re not frightened, yet you have a fucking panic attack because of a song?”

Carol closed her eyes and sighed. Once again, she rubbed her face, and noted with a twinge of disgust the new coating of sweat on her hand. “Therese…just drive.”

“Tell me what you’re afraid of!”

“Why is it so important for you to know?”

“Maybe because I’m sick of you snapping at me because I don’t know anything!” Therese roared. “Why is it so important for you to not tell me?”

“Have you ever felt terrified for your life? Did you feel your life spinning out of control and wondered if maybe it was better if you died? Did you ever feel like your worst nightmare was coming true and it seemed to play cat-and-mouse with you? And the only reason it didn’t kill you was because it played the game too long? _That_ is what my life felt like at that time, Therese. Forgive me if I prefer not to live it over again by repeating it all to you.”

Tears stung Therese’s eyes, forcing her to wipe them away or else lose clear sight of the road. She glanced at her speedometer and almost gasped when she found she was going twenty miles over. She slowed down, just in time to avoid detection from a cop car. 

“I don’t need to know all of it, Carol.” She sighed, unsure herself of what she was trying to ask. “I understand you’re scared. Just tell me what I can do to help you avoid—this!” She made a vague gesture to the radio. Carol didn’t respond. “Again, I’m not asking you to bare your soul to me.”

“From the way you’ve been going, it sounds like you are.”

Knuckles turned white as they gripped the wheel. Therese grit her teeth as she spoke, “I just want to know what you’re afraid of.”

She glanced over to see tears flow freely down Carol’s cheeks as she replied, “Sorry to disappoint.”

Therese angrily wiped away another set of tears. She let the conversation drop, unable to articulate what it was she wanted. Fatigue settled behind her eyes and she focused on her anger to keep her awake. Carol, meanwhile, stared out the window until her head drooped onto her shoulder. Therese noticed with another pang of regret of strands of hair stuck to Carol’s forehead and how drenched she looked. Why was she stupid enough to agree to taking her own car?

She snuck more glances at her passenger, noticing the laugh lines along Carol’s mouth and eyes, the shallow wrinkles along her forehead. It seemed difficult to see how this woman, so accustomed to laughter, was also accustomed to tears. 

That thought struck Therese, and she slowed down—much to the ire of those behind her—to ponder it. She realized now what it was she wanted from Carol, and why she needed to understand it.

 

 

The rest of the afternoon passed with tense pleasantries between them. They weren’t entirely cold toward each other, but neither felt particularly warm either. Instead of having dinner, both treated themselves to the ice cream in the freezer. Afterward, Carol picked out a book from Therese’s bookshelf and began to read. Therese almost considered cuddling, but decided she still needed time to deal with their earlier argument, so made her way outside onto the balcony. 

By now, twilight lit the sky with a blue and orange medley that she felt tempted to paint, especially after yesterday. But for now, she contented herself to admire it and breathe, feeling the air cool down a few degrees along with the humidity, easing some of the mugginess that lingered. She remembered watching the sunsets at Hollins, feeling a pang of nostalgia as she wished she could see the mountains in Charlottesville. If she could get the furniture store position, she would need to move back to Roanoke. Closer to Hollins, Appalachia, closer to the only period in her life that made sense. 

Take classes, plan a career, earn a degree. Everything had a path with a plan. Rarely did she ever have a day back then in which she questioned the direction of her life. Especially after she befriended Carol, who encouraged her then and even still now to pursue what she loved, no matter what anyone else thought. And if she moved back to Roanoke, she would be much closer to Carol. Physically closer, anyway.

As if on cue, she heard the door slide open behind her. Carol slipped up behind her, wrapping her arms around the younger woman and entwining their fingers together. 

“I’m sorry,” Carol spoke first.

Therese said nothing, though she could feel Carol wait for a counter-apology. Silence lingered between them as Therese reflected on their argument again. She studied their hands, still interlaced, as Carol pressed her cheek against Therese. 

Now that Therese understood what she wanted, she found her words and whispered, “Who are you?”

“Hm?” Carol’s lips tickled her ear.

“You’re right: I want to know what the hell happened to you that made you change, because sometimes it seems like you’re a completely different person than you were two years ago.”

Carol stiffened and pulled away from Therese. She leaned against the balcony railing with her arms crossed and sighed. She took a few heartbeats to gather her words, staring at the woods and creek. “Therese, I’m not a different person. I can’t be the happy-go-lucky professor all the time; I certainly wasn’t before.”

She sighed again and ran both hands through her hair. Her eyes squeezed shut to hold back the tears. Several heartbeats passed without a word. Therese waited, debating about whether to approach or not. When Carol opened her eyes, she glanced at Therese, then stared back at the woods. Another sigh and she shook her head. Therese waited.

Finally, Carol spoke up. “Drowning. I’m scared of suffocating and feeling trapped. I’m scared of losing my life and not even be dead. That’s what it felt like two years ago and to top it all off, I got divorced and lost Cassandra.”

“Was all that your dream last night?”

Again, eyes squeezed shut, and her body began to tremble. Carol opened her mouth, but closed it, unable to answer. _Black water, take over…. Keep breathing!_ She brought her hand to her face, covering it while she sobbed. 

“Hey. Hey, hey,” Therese soothed, rushing over her lover. She placed one arm around Carol’s front and used the other to rub Carol’s back. Carol leaned against her. “Breathe. You’re not drowning. You’re breathing air. Beautiful, humid, muggy night air that is making us sweat and smelly…”

She could feel Carol calm down slightly, but she still trembled and breathed erratically. Therese felt her shoulder dampen. She continued comforting her lover, not saying another word as Carol calmed down and her breath became even. They stayed still for more than several heartbeats, bodies slightly rocking side to side. 

“I’m sorry,” Therese whispered. 

Carol responded by tightening her hold and nuzzling into Therese’s neck. “I can’t be the person we both love all the time,” she whispered. “But goddammit, I’m trying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Chapter 16 will come soon! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, constructive criticism is welcome as long as it's nice and polite. We're not ugly people, so don't say ugly things. :)
> 
> Also, I want to take a moment to thank you all for the wonderful comments you've left on my other works. I appreciate your kindnesses as they have helped me regain confidence in my writing. You are all lovely people. <3


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